


Primum Non Nocere

by osunism



Series: Lightning In A Bottle [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff Angst & Maybe Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's had this wound on his soul for a long time, and perhaps the Maker looked upon him and said, "Enough."</p><p>So he sent a spirit healer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Waking Hours

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a long-time coming for this particular ship. Inspired by the song "XO" by Beyoncé, and because I hardly see anyone taking the time to explore just how complex a relationship between a mage and a traumatized ex-Templar can be.

“After a traumatic experience, the human system of self-preservation seems to go onto permanent alert,   
as if the danger might return at any moment.”   
―Judith Lewis Herman,  _Trauma and Recovery_

 

            There were still many things left undone in Thedas. While the sky was healed, bearing the sickly green scar tissue that could be seen from all corner of the continent, there was the matter of rifts that had opened up beyond the reach of the Inquisition. There was the aftermath of the mage rebellion; pockets of rebel mages and Templars were hunted down and brought in for justice to be properly meted out. There was naught much else one could do, least of all Hadiza. Even with the terrible evil that loomed over their heads no longer a threat, waning on the horizon like sunset, the stress was still there.

            But at least it was mostly humanity they dealt with, in all its foibles.

            During the days, which were long and oftentimes arduous, he would set out with Hadiza, just to see what it was like and to let her know that his sword arm was hers. He had only ever seen her in battle once, and it was during a skirmish with her sister, Aja, who had proven to be an invaluable asset to the Inquisition, bringing her knowledge of star navigation, sea charts, and the ebb and flow of trade with her.

            Seeing Hadiza in the field had been an eye-opener, and not entirely in the best way.

            It began when they were on the road to the Emerald Graves. There were valuable resources within that endless green forest that Hadiza wished to collect, and thus far, barring a few bandits, the sojourn to the Graves had been relatively peaceful. Due to such a small company, they traveled swift during the day, covering long distances on horseback, and only stopped to water their horses…except Hadiza, who insisted on riding that damnable Desert Lightning dracolisk everywhere. It was a ghastly creature, but had taken a shine to her.

            It also had a fierce appetite…particularly for bears, which made it an invaluable mount on the road.

            The nights were…Cullen could ill describe the nights. They were incredible. He’d never felt such camaraderie with others before, not even amidst his Templar brethren. Varric spun tales from Kirkwall, spoke fondly of Hawke, told jokes with the Iron Bull, Blackwall, and Aja. Those were good times for him, but what he remembered most about those nights was Hadiza’s smile. She loosened up on the road, he realized, finding an easier and freer rhythm to live by when the burden of her title no longer mattered amidst comrades she had ridden with cheek to jowl. She traded ribald jokes with her sister, sang, danced, recounted tales of previous battles, and she _laughed_.

            Cullen could live to be old and gray and never tire of hearing that laugh. Their eyes would meet when she laughed and her smile would grow soft around the edges, warmer, the steel of her limpid eyes softening to something one could only perceive as love.

            Those were the waking hours.

            When all returned to their tents he and Hadiza would make love, tenderly, slowly, and it was an effort to keep quiet. He wished desperately to make love to her beneath the open sky, the starlight limning her beautiful skin, her wails spiraling into the open air as she clutched at his shoulders. Instead, they were in the tent, with Hadiza biting her lip, then sinking her teeth into the strong, corded muscle between his neck and shoulder to stifle her cries. Cullen would make love to her with a tender fury, relishing in the very fact that they were both alive to even do this, and he would spend himself within her, boneless and content. They would lie together for a time, Hadiza drowsing at his shoulder while his arms encircled her. She would speak to him in that lazy, slurred voice, languorous and satisfied, then sigh as she drifted off to sleep.

            Cullen envied her the ease with which she slipped into sleep, but her presence was soothing, and since revealing his secret to her, he had found himself sleeping easier. The nightmares still came, full and vivid without the lyrium to sing them away and dull them, and he sometimes awoke with an ache in his jaw from grinding his teeth. Ten years he’d lived like this, and it took a great many of those years to go from waking up violently, to waking up in stillness to ascertain he was not back at Kinloch Hold.

            The one time he had slipped, he’d nearly hurt Hadiza, and that had eaten away at him for weeks. Still, she had come to him assuring him she was fine, that she understood that time was what they needed.

            She wanted to be here, even after the threat he posed to her person.

            Cullen had to commend her, but this was a beast that had grown fat from his fear for ten years, even the balm of her love and her unswerving devotion would not see it so easily collared.

            That night, Cullen did not sleep and merely held her close, letting his mind wander.

            _You’ve passed worse sleepless nights than in the arms of a beautiful woman._ He thought to himself, burying his nose in Hadiza’s hair. Her murmur of assent made him smile and he watched the tiny crack in their tent flap until first light filtered through. When the camp began to stir, he gently roused Hadiza from sleep, and she mumbled a protest, weak and futile, yawning as she struggled to open her eyes.

            “You’ve the enthusiasm of a newborn kitten, love,” Cullen teased in his quiet baritone as Hadiza stretched and rolled over in the bedroll. He had already begun dressing, having washed up and seen to his mussed hair. Hadiza clumsily clambered out of the bedroll, heedless of her nudity and searching for her clothes, which Cullen had conveniently folded up for her. Her armor and tools were also neatly tucked away and she glanced at his back, smiling as he settled into his armor.

            This was their ritual in the mornings.

            When they emerged, breakfast was already cooking on the fire, and the rest of the party was already roused and ready. Hadiza and Cullen settled around the cook fire, taking their fair share of the morning’s porridge and the very delectable sausage they’d managed to get from the nearest farm, and ate. It was usually silent in the mornings until everyone’s appetites were tamed and it was time to get on with the day’s work.

            They rode on, and for the most part, they took their time. They were three days out from the Graves and making good time.

            Until Hadiza’s left hand began to glow.

            It was not the glow that heralded the trouble, but the crackle and hiss, like a match being struck, and the sickly glow of the Anchor fighting to be freed from beneath her fingerless gloves.

            “Her Fade sense is tingling again.” Aja joked, earning a chuckle from Varric. Hadiza rolled her eyes, winced as the Anchor popped and hissed again and called her party to halt as she got out her map.

            “Ah shit.” She muttered, marking the Fade rift’s location. Cullen had yet to encounter one of these rifts in person, but he’d read the reports and part of him dreaded what would come next.

            “Alright, team, time to haul ass. Follow the leader!” Hadiza spurred her dracolisk into motion and with a reedy cry it took off, surefooted as a mountain goat, and twice as swift as a deer. They followed. When they came upon the rift, it hissed and spit in response to the Anchor and Hadiza dismounted out of range of the sickly ring of light the rift cast.

            “Leave your mount out of range,” Hadiza explained to Cullen, pointing to the ring of light, “once you step into that ring, the rift senses you and start shitting demons everywhere. They usually come in waves of two or three depending on how powerful it is. This one…” She winced, flexing her marked hand.

            “This one doesn’t feel like it’s a bitch, but don’t discount it. Second wave is usually where they try to come for us hardest. And…” She glanced around; Varric had unhooked Biance, Iron Bull had his battleaxe ready, Aja had her shield on her arm and war axe in hand, and Hadiza was the only mage present. She turned to Cullen.

            “Alright, I’m going to cast a shield when we step inside. It lasts for approximately one minute, and then you have to grind it out until I can cast it again. You and Aja will defend Varric and myself. Bull will raise hell wherever…stay out of his way.”

            “Hadiza…” Cullen protested and she fixed him with a level stare. He wouldn’t argue. This was her battlefield, but he knew his way around one.

            “Don’t stand in the green stuff when it appears under your feet.”

            “Green stuff?”

            “Just don’t.”

            “Understood.”

            “Alright, let’s move.” Hadiza whirled, gave a single command, and Bull leapt into the ring of green first, followed closely by herself, Varric, Cullen, and Aja. Her staff extended, glowing as she cast the shield over them just as the rift spit out the first wave.

            Cullen felt the familiar fear grip him, but steeled his resolve. They were lesser demons, more like ghosts really, and easily dispatched. Hadiza’s shield did most of the work in keeping their defense up while she cast fireballs in strategic locations.

            While they had a lull in the battle, Cullen marveled at Hadiza’s ability to slip from lover to leader and provide on-the-fly strategy to a constantly changing battlefield.

            “Second wave!” Aja called and they took their stances.

            The second wave landed, and this time, a rage demon led the pack. Cullen steeled himself and heard Varric’s chuckle from behind him.

            “You ready for this shit, Curly? That guy looks like someone pissed on his robes.” Cullen wanted to laugh but honestly, deep down, he was terrified. Rage demons were not to be trifled with when he was still a raw Templar, and from the pictures in tomes, they looked almost silly, like little red slugs.

            In person they were unreasonably tall and made of what looked to be lava.

            Hadiza didn’t hesitate, casting a shield over them all and switching to cold magic.

            “Brace yourselves!” She cried, magic swirling around her as she cast, winter’s grasp slowing the rage demon’s advance as Iron Bull came from behind to cleave it. It slumped but did not break apart and go back into the rift.

            “Ah shit. This one’s no pushover it looks like.” Varric was saying readying his arrows to rain down on the lesser demons. Cullen angled his shield upward as the rage demon seemed to grow in size, roaring in clear indignation. Though, being a rage demon, Cullen wondered if its roars were always indignant.

            Then it vomited fire on them.

            “Andraste’s flaming tits!” Varric cursed as he and Cullen leapt out of the way. Hadiza gathered more power, and this time cast a blizzard. Cullen barely managed to tuck himself tight and roll out of range before winter itself froze the demon.

            Iron Bull’s axe struck true this time, shattering the demon in a shower of blood, gore, and fire. The rift itself seemed to convulse, as if in pain and Hadiza ran up to it, lifting her marked had. There was a sound of power surging, building, a crescendo of noise that grated on Cullen’s ears as he saw the rift struggling against Hadiza’s own will. She lifted her other hand, made a fist, and shattered the entire rift as if it were made of glass.

            Cullen was covered in demon blood, and for a moment he stared at the splatter of it on his vambraces, felt the memory rise from his mind unbidden. And he felt himself scream in his own head: Stop it! No!

            _Kiernan!_

_The boy had been no older than eighteen when he came to Kinloch Hold, full of wonder and amazement. His armor was as good as new, polished and well-kept, his sword never even been drawn save for practice, and his eyes held the fever-bright look of one newly-inducted into their doses of lyrium. The song was loud in his veins, Cullen could tell, louder than even his own even though he had once been a raw recruit himself. He’d been in Kinloch Hold for two years and felt a smug sense of superiority when new transfers arrived. Kiernan embodied everything a Templar should have been, could recite the Chant of Light as if he wrote it himself, was kind to all he met, mage and Templar alike, and stood his watches and walked his patrols without complaint. He was well-liked by both sides, and always eager to learn. The First Enchanter had called him a Templar Darling, as Kiernan was quite popular with the female mages. They fawned over the boy’s austere features and boyish charm, but he had sworn vows unto the death, and he’d not break them, even for a pretty face._

_Uldred had killed him last._

_Cullen watched, helpless in his arcane prison, screaming himself hoarse, the lyrium in his blood sucked dry through blood magic, leaving an ache in his bones so profound he felt as if he were being pulled apart. Uldred had summoned demons and bound them, but he had given them free reign over the Templars they caught in their claws._

_Kiernan fought valiantly, reciting the Chant as he hacked and slashed, blocked and parried. He was still too raw to the Order to be particularly deadly at smiting magic, and while he may have stood against any ordinary mage, blood mages were something he wasn’t prepared for. But for a moment, Cullen dared to hope._

_Kiernan never saw the shade as it rose up behind him, silent as a shadow, and Cullen screamed at him to turn, but it was far too late. The shade’s large hand closed over the boy’s head and effortlessly made a fist, crushing Kiernan’s head like an overripe fruit. Cullen felt himself gag, leaning over to vomit what remained in his stomach. He could not smell the death, but he could see the mess. The shade dropped Kiernan’s limp and bloodied body and Uldred had ordered it to guard Cullen while he went to work on whatever summoning ritual he and his other blood mage compatriots were about. Cullen sank to his knees, sobbing, all hope drained from him as he was left in that prison, tormented by demons, and the very real presence of Kiernan’s corpse laying in a pool of blood and gore not five feet from him._

Cullen was drawn out of the memory by a muffled voice.

            “Cullen?” He startled and Hadiza put her hands up. She spoke slowly.

            “Cullen, it’s me, Hadiza. You’re in the Inquisition with me, near the Emerald Graves. We just closed a Fade rift. It’s almost time to make camp.”

            Cullen blinked rapidly, felt the blood in his ears die down to a dull roar, felt his heart slow from the racing pace it had taken. He blinked again, and remembered. Hadiza visibly relaxed and Cullen saw the looks on her companion’s faces, concern and a trace of pity. The only one who knew what just happened—truly—was Hadiza. She gently, slowly placed her hand on his chest.

            “You’re safe.” She told him. Cullen nodded.

            Safe.

            If he wished for anything at all, it was that his mind could understand what that truly meant.


	2. The Dreaming Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the nights he sleeps, he dreams. It is not the violence that galls him, nor the corruption. It is something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a short chapter. Less is more, no?

“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”   
―Brené Brown

 

            When they reached the Emerald Graves, there was a visible change in the mood. The open road had been nice, but it had been decidedly vulnerable for the same reason. Here, in the shelter of the mighty trees, with everything cast in a deep and soothing green, the road seemed less threatening, but that did not mean the danger was past. Hadiza had assured all of the rifts in the Graves had been closed so there was no risk of running into demons here lest they were summoned by rebel mages.

            As far as anyone knew, this was one of the few places the war did not truly touch.

            When they reached the Inquisition camp, Cullen retired early that evening. No one questioned it, although Hadiza’s brow knit with worry, her gaze trailing after the Commander, lingering, _wondering_.

            That night, he slept; that night, he had the nightmare again.

            Always it took a different turn; a path for each way he was tormented. Once, a desire demon had tempted him with an offer he almost took out of desperation, but his resolve held.

            _“Are you sure there is naught I can offer you to ease your suffering?” It was speaking to him, clearly, wearing the face of a woman who had long since left the Circle. Cullen knew the face well. He’d been fond of Galatea Amell. She was reticent lest she had aught to say, and her smile was a fleeting, but warm thing. She had been kind to him when last he saw her._

_This was not Galatea._

_“You offer nothing that will ease suffering, demon.” He spat contemptuously, rising to his feet, taking solace in the flaming sword emblazoned on his armor, remembering that it was for moments like this he had sworn that oath. The demon laughed with Galatea’s pretty mouth, turning in a circle and presenting the sinuous body with a languid wave of its arm. It reached up, letting down the hair, and Cullen watched. Galatea had never let her hair down, but more often than not, he had imagined the lush weight of it in his hands. He had wondered if—had their circumstances been different—if she would even care for him._

_This was not Galatea._

_“Oh my dear Ser Cullen…” The demon drawled and its voice inspired a sensation of a silken caress, and he felt it, even beneath all his armor, like soft, warm hands moving along his skin. He recoiled, both out of surprise and disgust. The demon laughed again, lifting a delicate hand to trail its fingertips along the walls of Cullen’s arcane prison. Uldred had marked Cullen for something greater, it knew, but the demons were bound not to physically harm him._

_It said nothing about his mind, however._

_“I shall return for you, my sweetling. Mayhap when you see what awaits you, you will consider my offer.” It turned, tossing its head and all at once there was a sound like a deck of cards being shuffled as the glamor that had been Galatea melted away, leaving only the desire demon in its place. Cullen felt bile rise in his throat._

_It sauntered away, stepping on Kiernan’s corpse on the way out, leaving only the impression of its ersatz laughter in its wake._

            Cullen’s eyes opened abruptly, and he found himself in a cold sweat, the bedroll caught in a white-knuckled grip, his chest heaving as his lungs sucked air as if starved for it. Usually, his nightmares took on something far more ghastly, but a lifetime of preparing for battle had seen to those easily enough. It was the ones between the macabre horrors of murder and mayhem that saw him awake in the gloaming hours, remembering all too clearly how the demons had weathered him like the ocean weathered an obstinate shore. Every moment that had limped past he knew he skirted closer to madness, and that would have inevitably damned him into their seductions. He would have failed the Order, would have failed Kiernan’s memory…

            He sat up when the world finally came into clarity, and found Hadiza seated on one of the chairs by the desk, wearing his shirt, watching him. She said nothing, but by this point there was no need. Cullen saw the low-burning lamplight illuminate her cheeks.

            And the tear trails that painted them.

            All at once he felt an amalgamation of guilt, fear, and an encroaching sense of isolation that set him apart from all of them. Who else dealt with such things in the night? He had been sucked into a memory in the middle of a battlefield, for Andraste’s sake. He knew the battle had been over, but had he lost his focus earlier, he could have endangered the entire team. He could have gotten them killed.

            Hadiza might have been hurt.

            Cullen said nothing and neither did she, and he lay down slowly, turning his back to her as he tried in vain to get back to sleep. He couldn’t tell how long it was, but he heard her pulling on her trousers and leaving the tent. His heart stung as his mind jumped to every possible conclusion there was. He was paralyzed with anger, with hurt, with fear that this was it: Hadiza was fed up with him. At Skyhold, she could tolerate his lapses into his nightmares, into his dreams, into his memories. She could handle that for he was a danger to none but himself on the worst nights.

            Here in the field, she had never seen what he had to deal with in the night, in a skirmish…in a war.

            Perhaps now she understood why he had been so adamant in having Cassandra relieving him of command. It had not just been the lyrium-thirst, the ache in his world-weary bones, or even the headaches. Those, he could endure, even the distant song of lyrium when he passed too near the mages in the keep; no, it was that the dreams stole his sleep from him, saw him sore and rigid in the morning, as if his soul were beginning to deteriorate bit by bit.

            It was the _soul-ache_ that was relentless.

            And now Hadiza was seeing how it affected him no matter where he went. Where had she gone?

            Cullen finally found sleep, exhausted by his own worry, fear, and apprehension, and for once it was blessedly dreamless, albeit brief.

            Dawn saw him waking alone, Hadiza nowhere to be found in the tent. When he washed, dressed, and emerged, Hadiza was already fully dressed and conferring with her Inquisition officers regarding locations of logging stands, quarries, and which resources they had dire need of. Cullen watched her a moment, and as if her head were on a string, she glanced up from the table to meet his eyes.

            And then she smiled.

            Cullen felt some ease in that smile before he head lowered back to the map, marking locations with her quill. Breakfast was quiet, although as was their penchant, the party roused after appetites were slaked and the mounts tacked and loaded with supplies.

            “It’s a shame we already killed the dragon here,” Bull was saying to Hadiza as they took to the road once more, “would have loved to give one a rumble today.”

            “You say that as if all of our draconic encounters have been a paltry thing, Bull. _Honestly_.” Hadiza shook her head, scratching her dracolisk along the ridges where a horse’s ears would be. It made a whistling sound, and Cullen assumed it was pleased with the action. He would never quite understand why Hadiza liked that particular mount so much.

            “Did you die?” Bull asked. Hadiza laughed.

            “I mean…he’s right, though,” Aja chimed in, sitting straight and proud on her Ferelden Forder, “a dragon would be a welcome challenge today.” She and Bull exchanged grins, two fighters relishing the idea of pitting their power against the might of one of Thedas’ most awesome creatures.

            Varric shook his head, laughing.

            “You people are all fucking insane. As if a green hole shitting demons on us isn’t enough of a challenge, already.” Hadiza gave him a pointed look of agreement.

            “I’m sure there will be some fights on this expedition,” Hadiza said and Cullen watched her, “remember the first time we came here?”

            “Two fucking giants.” Aja said with a laugh. “Maker’s breath that was an experience.”

            Varric laughed.

            “Don’t forget our esteemed Inquisitor’s reaction,” He said and then cleared his throat, “ _Are you fucking **kidding** me?_” And the band of warriors and rogues laughed at the mage’s expense. She lifted her chin.

            “Well someone was thinking it,” She protested, “I simply voiced it. Aside, what of Aja? _Oh some bears would not be amiss to replace this shit_.”

            More laughter. Cullen watched the exchange, fascinated. They mocked one another, teased, mimicked, joked, and he felt an outsider intruding upon a camaraderie he had neither earned nor felt welcome in. Not after his embarrassing display the other day.

            “How about the time you nearly turned us into pin cushions, Varric?” Aja quipped. Varric chuckled.

            “Nice try, Twinkle Toes, but I gave you all fair warning what was going to happen. Hey, you’re wearin’ armor aren’t you? You were fiiiiine.”

            Thus did it continue, and Cullen watched. Eventually, at some point, they stopped to rest by a mighty stream, their horses grazing nearby, the dracolisk tearing into a pile of trapped rabbits Hadiza had garnered. She found him, sitting by the stream, watching the water rush by, and sat next to him.

            “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” She asked him and he smiled at her.

            “Very,” He agreed, “for having such a gruesome history.” She returned his smile, took his hand, and laced their fingers. He was apprehensive at first, but he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she squeezed back. Cullen clung to that reassurance the remainder of the day.

            When they claimed the first logging stand and camped for the evening, Hadiza lay beside him in their tent and when he turned his back to her, she stayed, looping her arms around him and tangling her fingers in his.

            Cullen slept that night and did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few of you have expressed that you are fucking with this theme I got going, and I'm glad for that. I wanted you guys to know: I have never had a beta-reader before (as if that wasn't obvious from the careless mistakes and shitty pacing of my previous fic endeavors). So this story is coming to you raw, rolling from my muse's fingers right onto the digital page. If there's typos or grammatical errors I've overlooked in my proofing, bear with me. But this is a story that's been sitting in my heart in various forms for longer than I want to admit, and I think this is the story that needs to be told.


	3. The Gloaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At dusk, she asks for him, and Cullen has no choice but to tell her the truth.

“As a rock on the seashore he standeth firm, and the dashing of the waves disturbeth him not.  
He raiseth his head like a tower on a hill, and the arrows of fortune drop at his feet.   
In the instant of danger, the courage of his heart sustaineth him;  
and the steadiness of his mind beareth him out.”  
―Akhenaton

 

            The second time Hadiza disappeared in the night, Cullen began to worry. They had been in the Emerald Graves for a fortnight, and the first week had been spent mining minerals and metals from the surrounding mountains, gathering herbs, and sending missives to report that logging stands and quarries had been claimed.

            The second week had been spent hunting trouble.

            Cullen should have expected no less, with two blade-ready warriors in the party. Once their initial objective was completed, Hadiza rewarded them with a battle. Oh they trained, sure enough. Each of them had their own respective style, and Cullen had continued his sparring sessions with Aja; she had even taught him the rudiments of her own style which involved the complex footwork that Cullen in the end accepted he would never perfect.

            “Too grounded in that Templar training, eh?” Aja had teased. “It’s fine, you’re still a lion to the men.”

            Cullen had blushed at that, just before Aja had pressed an attack once more. The woman was strong, well-muscled from the cut of her biceps that he’d seen, and had an arm that could fell a giant from the way the shockwave traveled up to his shoulder when he blocked.

            But he became stronger for it, and these sessions had served to burn off any restless energy that gathered from his sleepless nights. For the most part, things were good.

            But for the other parts, things were still left uncertain.

            The nightmares came and went, and Cullen found that sleep was more curse than blessing, his bedroll became a prison, his mind became shackles from which he had no hope of escaping. He found his temper was shorter again, and his bones ached, longing for the blue clarity of lyrium’s song if only to drown out the screaming of Cullen-that-was. Hadiza had been very careful not to take her potions in front of him, and when she did it was usually when a battle was on the horizon. He could not even taste the icy burn of it on her mouth when he kissed her. But he could see the glow of it, like preternatural circuitry, swimming in her pale eyes. He swore he could feel the pull of it beneath her skin when he pressed his mouth to her heated flesh, could feel the thrum of it in her quickening pulse as they made love in the night.

            But he knew it was just his mind starved for old methods of coping. He was determined to face these nightmares clean, without the collar of the Chantry at his throat.

            Maker’s breath it was hard!

            Some days he doubted himself. Some days he chided himself for thinking he could ever be free of the demonic eidolons that skulked the shadows of his mind, and some days he let the nightmares run their course and he would awaken, sweating and a scream gathering in his throat, stopped short as his senses snapped back to the present, and birdsong heralded the arrival of a demon-free dawn.

            The day they stumbled upon a rift where a pride demon was spit forth was the last straw.

            The battle had been a hard one from the beginning, but when the pride demon came forth, chuckling and arrogant, Cullen knew true fear. It was a pride demon that took Uldred. ‘Twas pride that nearly broke him, coupled with the perfect whiteness of despair.

            It was pride that nearly killed Hadiza.

            Cullen saw it, and her, standing in its ominous shadow, saw her cast several spells in succession, heard its laughter as it reached down.

            Somehow, over the din, he screamed her name. More fool he for thinking that would help. Hadiza turned, following his voice, the rock armor giving her a grotesque appearance—a warped and eldritch version of herself made impregnable by magic. The pride demon’s clawed hand wrapped around her waist and lifted her high.

            Cullen shouted her name again and he and the rest of the party converged.

            It brought Hadiza down hard, shattering earth, soil, and foliage in its wake, lifted her again, slammed down. Three, Cullen counted. Three times it struck Hadiza into the earth. Her staff had been flung out of the rift’s ring of influence, and the pride demon lifted its foot, intent on crushing her beneath its pernicious weight.

            Aja struck first.

            It stumbled beneath her onslaught, and she pressed it, right into Iron Bull’s merciless swings, which pressed it into range of the deadly hail of arrows Varric shot.

            And Cullen struck, all fire and fury and frustration, quicker than his size should have allowed, burying his sword in demon flesh until its roars became pained cries, until its blood—slippery and black and viscous—became his war paint. He struck and struck until it broke apart and was sucked back into the rift.

            Hadiza lifted her hand, weakly, and Iron Bull hauled her up carefully while she closed the rift. When it shattered, she collapsed, her rock armor fading, leaving only the woman.

            They limped back to camp, with Cullen carrying Hadiza in his arms, much like he had done during the exodus from Haven. She was unconscious; the healing potion had healed the worst of her injuries, but she was weak, her mana drained, and her focus gone. Cullen did not complain once during the walk back to camp, and they tended her quietly, letting her rest. It would delay their return from the Graves for certain, but they were well-supplied for an extended stay.

            Cullen found himself at Hadiza side, unable to be pulled away. He wanted to be the first person she saw when she opened her eyes, but then…part of him wanted to be the last person she saw when she awoke.

            So he withdrew, isolating himself at the stream, trying to make sense of what had gone wrong. Hadiza had faced down a pride demon before. She’d eliminated it with extreme prejudice, taking joy in sending it back to the Fade. According to her companions, she was the most efficient demon killer in Thedas.

            So that left the only conclusion to be that he had been more of a distraction on the field than he originally thought.

            “Curly.” Varric said from his side and Cullen looked down, startled.

            “She’s up. She’s asking for you.”

            It was dusk when Hadiza opened her eyes and Cullen entered the tent. She gave him a tired smile, sat up, mindful of the bandages around her ribs, and winced.

            “Shit.” She muttered, wincing as she finally sat up fully. Cullen was frozen in place, and he saw her as she was, without titles, without magic, just Hadiza Trevelyan, a woman from the Free Marches that was in the wrong place at the right time.

            “Cullen you look like someone kicked your puppy.” She said with a pained laugh. Cullen laughed too, but it was restrained, tightly controlled.

            “How are you feeling, love?” He asked her. Hadiza fixed him with an incredulous look as if to say ‘seriously’.

            “Like I just got manhandled by a pride demon,” She muttered, “Maker! That was wild, wasn’t it?” She laughed again, adjusting herself carefully. Cullen came to kneel beside her, brushing her hair out of her face.

            “You should be laying down, Hadiza.” She frowned at him but he smiled, “Don’t look at me so. You’re the one who’s injured, here.”

            Hadiza turned her face away, and he swore she was pouting.

            “A fucking pride demon,” She muttered, “since _when_?” She seemed to be in disbelief that a pride demon had managed to catch her unawares. Cullen looked away from her lovely profile to find somewhat else to focus on. Since when?

            Since he realized he was the reason she had been distracted.

            “Hadiza, I…I should not have…” She swung her gaze to him, puzzled, questioning, _waiting_. Cullen ran his hands over his face.

            “I called to you, during the fight. It was foolish of me. I was frightened for you and I didn’t think you heard me.” Hadiza tilted her head.

            “You think your calling my name had somewhat to do with me getting turned into a warhammer?” She laughed. “Oh Cullen, you’re precious. These things happen, love. I’ve taken much worse from much stronger foes. It was simply a matter of the pride demon getting the drop on me, is all. You are not at fault here.”

            Cullen sighed. Hadiza’s brows furrowed.

            “But…?” She prompted, sensing his apprehension.

            “I feel as though I have intruded upon something beautiful, Hadiza. You and the others mesh well. You fight in concert, each playing to their strengths and lending support to one another’s weaknesses. You have been at this a lot longer. I just wonder why you asked me to come at all, is all.”

            Hadiza was silent, but there was a change in her demeanor, like a shift in the wind, or the scent of a thunderstorm on the horizon. Cullen saw the gimlet gleam of her eyes turn to steel and she frowned.

            “You, Ser Rutherford, are one of the most…” She began but then caught herself, taking a deep breath, wincing when her ribs protested.

            “If you think for a moment that you matter any less than the rest of my companions, you are an idiot.” She said to him.

            “Cullen, you are the Commander of my entire army, you have claimed more of Thedas for our cause in the past year than the Tevinter Imperium ever could. You have walked me through strategy, you _broke_ Adamant Fortress, you took Samson to task and allowed me to redeem him before the red lyrium took him, and…and you love me, as I love you. Cullen you are the most important person to me in this entire organization and I asked you to come with me because I needed your sword and your shield as much as I needed _you_.”

            Cullen was somewhat surprised.

            “But that night…when I woke. You had been crying, Hadiza…”

            She looked away, and he knew her cheeks were burning.

            “Cullen, I love you too much to watch you suffer. I have been able to help you with everything else, but this…this is something I cannot touch. Not because I don’t want to. If I could I would draw the phantoms that plague you from your mind like poison from a wound. But I can’t. And I see how you look at me when you wake. I see the fear in your eyes before you realize it’s me.”

            Cullen felt shame pierce his heart, burrowing deep. He said nothing, and Hadiza sighed.

            “It is not something that can be helped…because it’s here.” She caressed his temple.

            “And here.” She placed her hand on his chest.

            “Hadiza I cannot shake this inherent fear of magic. Not after all I’ve seen. The ugliness it has wrought. Even the sky bears the scar as a reminder of its dangers.”

            “And what of the good of magic?” Hadiza countered. “What of the healing? The rejuvenation? The joy? What of the light it brings to the darkness? Cullen will you ever see my magic as anything but destructive?”

            Cullen did not know. He had seen her bathed in lightning of her own making, had watched her make manifest her destructive thoughts to slaughter their foes, had seen her paralyze enemies with a wave of her hand, had watched her crush them with an imperceptible twitch of a finger.

            He had seen only her destructive magic. So mayhap that is all he would ever know.

            “I’m sorry.” He whispered and Hadiza shut her eyes.

            And the crack between them formed.


	4. The Afternoon & The Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadiza makes Cullen an offer. Also NSFW.

“The minute I heard my first love story,  
I started looking for you, not knowing  
how blind that was.  
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.  
They're in each other all along.”   
―Rumi

 

            The journey back to Skyhold passed swiftly, and Cullen marveled at how the journey home was always quicker than the journey away. As they passed through the gate, beneath the portcullis, he felt…confined. Skyhold seemed so small now, after being on the road for so long. Hadiza’s recovery had been aided by magic, he knew, and while she still winced when she laughed too hard, she was able to ride. Cullen was relieved to see her on the mend, but they had not spoken since that night, not truly.

            The days that followed were of little note; Rylen had reports waiting for him regarding the stabilization of the Western Approach, and the Wardens had begun rebuilding their Order in Adamant. Little was known about the Wardens regarding that matter and Blackwall was frequently away, aiding in that cause.

            Behind his desk, Cullen felt like a strange in his own home, as if he did not fit, as if something in the Graves had changed him. He thought of Hadiza, trapped in a pride demon’s claws, thought of how still she had been on the ground when it released her. He thought of Kiernan, who did not have the advantage of rock armor, who had his helm knocked clear in the fray, who could not hear Cullen’s cries for him to turn around…

            Cullen got up, irritable, and paced his office, unsure of where he would go. Skyhold was too small to contain him, but nor could he simply leave. He wanted to do everything at once, ride somewhere quiet, escape his nightmares, anything that would take him far from the fact that he had wounded the woman he loved.

            He was unsure if she would ever forgive him.

            The sun was casting slanting shafts of light through his window by the time he decided to leave his office. He’d been considerably less productive most of the morning, alternating between frustrated growling and staring at the parchment that begged for his reports on their expedition to the Emerald Graves.

            Hadiza had not come to see him once the entire morning.

            Cullen wanted to attribute it to the fact that she was busy, that she was planning the next expedition, that she was likely contemplating ending things with him for being so unfair to her.

            He felt his heart seize up, and his stomach turned to knots at the idea.

            By the time the sun passed its zenith, he was heading to the main hall for a late lunch. He needed to eat if he was to keep his strength up. The nightmares tended to steal his appetite on the worst nights, but on the nights where he actually slept, he found himself ravenous and damn near insatiable.

            Hadiza wasn’t in the main hall when he arrived, and he pretended not to feel disappointed about it, and instead snatched up what finger foods he could and retreated back to his tower. He did not miss the murmurs of the nobles present, following his retreating back like arrows.

            “ _Her Worship was in a right sorry state when they got back._ ”

            “ _Oh yes, she looked dreadful, poor dear. I hear she was ambushed._ ”

            “ _Oh? I heard ‘twas her Ser Lionheart that botched the fight; distracted her with his worrying. Never a good idea to shit where one eats, I always say._ ”

            “ _Language!_ ”

            Cullen winced, and did not leave his tower for the remainder of the afternoon.

 

 

            Hadiza came to see him when the sun sank beneath the peaks, limning them in halos of fire. She looked much better than she had in days, and when she entered, Cullen felt a surge of relief wash over him, and then followed closely by fear and panic.

            She was hear to tell him it was over, he knew it.

            “Cullen, I…” She began awkwardly, wringing her hands. Cullen stood, rounding his desk to come near her. She took a step away from him and he flinched.

            “I’m sorry, Hadiza.” He blurted out, desperate to hold onto her, desperate to show her how foolish he had been.

            “I know,” She said to him, “I know you are, love. I just…I suppose I needed time to…think. I didn’t want to be angry with you when I spoke. I didn’t want to say things I could not take back.” Cullen relaxed, the tension in the lines of his body easing somewhat. Hadiza looked beautiful, clad in a dress of soft rosy gold; she favored dresses that fell naturally along the lithe curves and lines that sculpted her shape, sleek and sinuous, and so very scandalous at times. She had set the tone for the type of Inquisitor she was when she arrived at Halamshiral looking as if the very night had spun her to life. Her hair was left loose, falling in soft, gleaming waves of black down to mid-back. She was radiant and he wanted to take her face in his hands and press his mouth to hers softly…

            “Cullen, I wanted to ask you…honestly ask you, if you trust me.”

            His fantasy faded like morning mist in the wake of her words and he struggled to put together some form of intelligent thought. Did he trust her? What sort of question was that? The woman had pulled Thedas from the brink, had believed in him and given him a chance to prove himself as a capable leader and a man free from the Chantry’s lyrium shackles. She had done more for him than words could ever encompass.

            “Of course I trust you.” He breathed. “Hadiza you’re everything to me.” Hadiza shook her head, and it became apparent that perhaps Lady Montilyet had been with her, prepping her appearance for this meeting.

            “I mean…do you trust _me_? The mage. Me with my magic. Do you trust that I would never seek to harm you in any capacity?”

            That was entirely different.

            Cullen was quiet for a time, and then he realized that it was not the place they should be discussing this.

            “Hadiza, this is a heavy question.”

            “I do not ask it lightly.” She said gravely, silver eyes guileless. Maker’s breath, she was serious. That was the same tone she took when she judged prisoners. Cullen backed away and then leaned on the desk. Hadiza did not pursue him and instead stayed exactly where she was, looking as ethereal as a coveted dream.

            “I do and I don’t, Hadiza. It is not a simple question to answer, nor is the answer a simple one to give. I have told you what happened to me.”

            “Not the details.” She said softly. Cullen’s eyes flashed, defensive and unyielding

            “I told you _enough_.” Cullen said fiercely and her eyelids flickered, realizing she’d pressed too hard. He accepted the silent apology of her expression.

            “I told you what happened to me,” Cullen continued, “Both at Kinloch Hold and in Kirkwall. I have seen the worst of what mages can become. If it is not blood magic they succumb to, it is always demons. And in Kirkwall, most of that went hand in hand. Knight-Commander Meredith was zealous and abusive in her tactics and reasoning, but at the core of it, she was right to fear. The last time mages were allowed free reign of their powers, Tevinter controlled most of the known world. The Circles may not have been the best idea, but they were the only way mages could be monitored that the likes of blood magic and demonic possession never again occurred.”

            “So you lock us away from our friends and families, strip us of all that we were, and herd us about like animals that could snap at any moment? Cullen surely you saw the abuses that went on in the Circle. I have seen the aftermath of what Templars who abuse their power can do. I have treated the wounds and aborted the pregnancies myself.”

            Cullen drew back, visibly nonplussed. He’d never spoken to her openly about her time in the Circle. He had always heard good things about Ostwick. The mages were relatively pampered and well-kept, and of the Circles after the Kirkwall Rebellion, it remained functioning till this day.

            Perhaps not all the reports that had come from Ostwick were honest ones. The ones from Kirkwall certainly watered down how mages were treated.

            “The Knight-Commander of my Circle was having an affair with my mother. It was his…adoration of her that protected me from the worst of it. But there were others who were not so lucky, and the Knight Commander was not without his cruelties. Cullen, I know about blood magic. I’ve seen it done. It’s horrid. And I have seen Abominations. But Templars hunt down every mage in Thedas as if we are vermin to be trapped and caged. A humble healer in a hovel in the Hinterlands could be labeled an apostate at best, and if the wrong kind of Templar comes across them, a Maleficar at worst.”

            “Hadiza, I’m not a Templar anymore. I’d never think to…” She turned on him, her expression hard.

            “But you still think as one. Cullen, you practically begged me not to recruit the rebel mages. You wanted me—a mage—to walk into a Templar and Seeker stronghold and convince them to help us. What do you think would have happened to me had I failed? Templars are trained to neutralize and kill people like me.”

            He hadn’t even considered the implications at the time. Cullen felt ashamed. At the time, he hadn’t even known he would come to love this woman. He had almost sent her to her death begging her not to bring mages into Haven. At the time, he’d thought she only sided with the mages to spite him, and because she was a mage herself. But at its core she simply took the option that would see her less likely to be killed the moment she turned her back. But there would always be the danger, the temptation.

            “What do you want from me, Hadiza? I cannot simply…forget all that’s happened to me. I cannot easily set aside all I have seen, done, and felt simply because I am in love with you.” He said, exasperated. Hadiza tilted her head.

            “I would never ask that of you, Cullen. All I ask is that you…give me a chance.”

            He met her gaze, questioning. Hadiza sighed and she approached him slowly. When had there been such distance between them since they came together? Why was there so much distance, now?

            “If…I want to try something,” She said, “That I think might help. I do not think you will dislike it, honestly. But if at any time you do, simply say so, and we can stop.”

            Now Cullen was morbidly curious. His silence was her cue to continue.

            “There is a school of magic all mages are taught, but few excel in. I have requested Madame de Fer’s aid in acquiring tomes on the subject. I think maybe if we…go through them together you will garner some understanding about the other side of magic.” Cullen hesitated and she reached to place a hand gently on his arm.

            “Cullen, please. I think it will help. And maybe put your mind at ease. You have only ever seen me use magic to attack or defend. But I do not think you’ve ever seen my magic used to create and heal. And it is a school of magic I am good at but hardly ever get to use.”

            “Hadiza, are you saying you want to…?” He wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Hadiza smiled at him, equal parts sad and equal parts compassionate.

            “We’ll study this school of magic together, Cullen. You may ask me anything you want to know. I want you to understand life from a mage’s perspective and perhaps it is because those who came before have been reluctant to be honest with you about it. If it puts your mind at ease to know the truth—the _entire_ truth—then I’ll be the first to volunteer.”

            He understood, then, what she was offering. It was something new and unfamiliar, something no one had ever offered, least of all to a Templar, former or no. He reached up, cupped her cheek in his hand and smiled at her. Hadiza smiled back.

            “Alright, love,” He murmured, “If it pleases you, I do not see the harm in it. But first…” He leaned in, pressing a gentle and soft kiss to her lips. The sweetness of it almost broke her heart and he felt her lean in, eager for another. He gave, only because he had longed for her for days since that night in camp. His hands went to her waist, and he marveled at how deliciously sinful the fabric felt, moving like a dream along her body as he squeezed and pulled her into him.

            It felt good to have her back in his arms again.

 

 

            They made love that night, gently. Cullen was careful with her, much to her amusement, and allowed her to control the pace of their evening. The first thing she did when they climbed the ladder to his loft was unlace the stays of her dress. Cullen watched, his mouth going dry and his cock thickening at the sight as the dress slithered along her body to pool at her feet. She stood there in nothing but her smallclothes, and not even a breast band. How had he missed that she had come to him with her breasts sitting so freely?

            Ah, it didn’t matter, now.

            As he undressed, they talked. She went to bed, first, crawling beneath the coverlet to wait for him.

            “What did you do in this tower all day?” She asked him, watching as he unstrapped his chest armor, pauldrons, and vambraces. Cullen smiled at her.

            “Not a damn thing, unfortunately. I was…somewhat distracted…” He paused when he began unlacing his leather jerkin, watching Hadiza’s fingertips with a burgeoning curiosity. She traced a pattern along the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the curve of her breast. His eyes settled on the pert peak of one of her dark nipples before he swallowed.

            “Distracted?” She asked him, clearly amused and knowing exactly what she was about. Cullen didn’t miss her shift in position as he pulled the jerkin over his head and folded it. Hadiza rolled onto her back, and her legs fell open. Cullen took a deep breath and continued to undress.

            “I haven’t been here all day. What distraction could you possibly mean?”

            Cullen watched as she stretched, long, sinuous muscles rolling beneath that unblemished dark skin. She had legs for days, and he recalled spending many nights in their tent just caressing the length of them.

            “Contrary to popular belief, you are not the only one vying for my attention, Hadiza.” He was nude, now, and before she could quip back and torment him some more he was on the bed, taking each of those long legs over his shoulders and diving down to press his mouth against the hot, moist slit of her sex.

            Hadiza let out a half-laugh half-sigh, going limp and boneless as Cullen’s tongue parted her with minimal effort. It should have taken more time, and it would have had she not been so _wet and ready_ for him. But Cullen had missed her, had missed hearing her, had missed the freedom of allowing her moans, sighs, and wails eddy in the air above him. And Hadiza, for her part, had missed the sight of Cullen head between her thighs, his eyes closed in bliss as his lips wrapped around the sensitive bug of her clit, cheeks hollowing before he sucked hard.

            Her head fell back against the pillows and she threw both of her hands over her face, nerves thrumming with an unnamed sensation. It was at once too much and not enough. She chased her orgasm and shirked it; Cullen had learned the cues of her body with a shameless intimacy, and when he felt the building crescendo of her climax, he retreated, sending her gradual moans into whimpers of frustration, and then cries of beseeching encouragement as he began the process anew. He traced the opening of her sex as if she were some delectable sweet treat and he sought every drop she had to offer. Hadiza writhed, but his grip was sure and strong, keeping her hips firmly pinned on the bed, keeping her from running away from his hungry mouth, but allowing her only to roll her hips into the rhythm of his thrusting tongue.

            Then his mouth was at her clit again, tongue tracing its shape in slow and deliberate patterns. Hadiza felt herself getting wetter, but he withheld her from that glittering edge of release she craved.

            Her beseeching became cursing.

            She promised him everything under the sun, promised to give him anything he wanted if he would just let her—

            “Yes!” She cried, feeling it build as Cullen dug into a rhythm of alternating between sucking on her clit and rolling his tongue against it just so…

            “Yes! Please! Oh… **oh** …” Her voice searched for a note. Found it. _Ah_. She dragged it out, her waist flexing as her hips lifted. Cullen felt her spasms, heard the wails, relished the wash of wet heat into his mouth and dripping along his chin. He did not stop until the tremors did, and only then did he pull away, releasing her hips, then removing his mouth, and finally allowing her legs to fall limply back to the mattress. Cullen thought she looked best this way, her eyes glazed, lips parted in soft pants, body trembling from the host of sensations his mouth alone inspired in her.

            Her gaze lifted to his, heavy-lidded and inviting; Cullen took his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly.

            “Yes?” He prompted. Hadiza’s tongue darted out tracing the shape of her mouth. She said nothing, but shifted, finding the strength to sit upright.

            “Lay down.” She told him. Cullen’s brows rose but he’d not question it. He lay on his back, still stroking himself, running his thumb over the tip, already moist before he saw what Hadiza intended to do.

            She pried his hand away, replacing it with her own. Cullen’s eyes were dark with a need he hadn’t known was burning in him, and when she lowered her head, silver eyes holding his intense gaze, it almost undid him. She rewarded the tip with a wet, sensuous kiss, first, swirling her tongue around the head. Cullen felt his breath hitch and resisted the urge to thrust his hips up. He wanted to watch all of it. Wanted to watch as she did that—yes, Maker!—watch as his shaft vanished into her mouth, as her eyes shut, and she made that little _mmm_ of pleasure. She stroked him as she worked, pulling away with wet and lewd slurps, before her lips engulfed him again, moving in concert with her stroking fist. He wanted to concentrate on the sight of it, but the pleasure was mounting, his balls were tight, and so he threw his arm over his eyes and let out a growl of lust. His hips jerked when she shirked stroking him for using only her mouth, taking him deeper each time. When the tip of his cock bumped the back of her throat, he hissed.

            When she made swallowing motions with her tongue while he was in the back of her throat, his hand shot to take her by the hair and pull her off gently.

            “I’ll spend if you keep that up.” He said hoarsely. Hadiza lips her swollen and moist lips, smirking at him.

            “Promise?”

            Cullen almost let her continue off of that alone.

            “I need to be inside you, Hadiza. Maker, it’s _killing_ me.” He hauled her onto him, laughing as they kissed and rolled, him sitting back on his heels and dragging her hips into his lap.

            “Yes?” He prompted again, taking his cock in his hand and dragging the head along her glistening slit. Hadiza nodded.

            “Yes…!” She managed to eke out before he plunged into her, jerking her forward until he was firmly hilted within her. For a moment he reveled in it. Her cunt rippled around him, stretching to accommodate his girth, then flexing and relaxing in an effort to suck him as deep as possible. He knew she was doing it on purpose to goad his pleasure.

            It worked.

            In retaliation he slid her back, watching her intently, smiling as she pressed her palms against the headboard above her head to use as leverage.

            He jerked her forward, and her gasp gave way to a groan.

            “Cullen!” She cried. “Please, I’m going to…!”

            “Promise?” He asked her wickedly and she laughed tiredly in response.

            Eventually he had to stop toying with her, it was inevitable, and so he established a rough rhythm, pulling her back and forth along his length, taking advantage of both his fitness and hers as his plundering grew faster, torturing her with deep, merciless strokes, reveling in the sound of her nails scrabbling along the headboard as she struggled to hold on while he rode her hard with every intention of putting her away wet.

            She called his name, unable to control herself, unable to control her climax and it came unexpectedly, shocking the both of them, her wails piercing the air loud enough that the patrol _must_ have heard her. Cullen grunted and threw his head back, the sensation of her clutching cunt sending him into a hotter rhythm as he rode toward his own release, which galloped on the heels of her own.

            “Ah! _Maker_!” He shouted and jerked her forward, burying himself deep as he came, his cock twitching as he filled her with the fluid heat of his seed. Both of them were trembling, and in the immediate aftermath, both of them were cold. He slid from her slowly, carefully, his cock still hypersensitive, and rolled them both under the covers.

            That was how their night began.

            Later, after they’d burned away the distance between them, she had ridden him, slow and steady, drawing out their pleasure as the candles burned low, giving them limited light. Cullen had never seen Hadiza look more beautiful than in that moment when she shuddered on top of him, a quake that started from the base of her spine and traveled the length of her, her sex squeezing him tightly as he came soon after, pulling her down to hold her close.

            They lay in exhausted silence afterward, words as useless to them as ever, and neither one of them could remember when they closed their eyes, only that birdsong woke them seemingly hours later.

            And the spymaster waiting in Cullen’s office just below the ladder.


	5. The Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Hadiza do things pertaining to their jobs. Cullen makes a big decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a very short chapter. I didn't feel the need to dwell on innocuous details, and as this is a Cullen-centric fic, I wanted to focus more on his inner thoughts, self-introspection, etc. I could have done this in first-person, but a friend of mine said his voice rang too much like another character of mine. Third-person was the only way I could maintain his voice and still play to my strengths. I don't plan the length of my fics and chapters. The story does, honestly. Once again, read and comment. :)

 “The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation,  
unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.”   
―Steve Maraboli

 

          Leliana did her best not to look amused when Cullen made his way down the ladder, fully-dressed and looking decidedly well-rested.

            “Sister Leliana,” Cullen said, facing her, “to what do I owe the pleasure? Or do you come bearing ill-tidings?” Leliana gave him a small smile.

            “Actually, I came here looking for the Inquisitor.” Her eyes flickered up the ladder where there was the distinct sound of someone hopping about, and then a series of thuds, and a very decidedly unladylike curse word.

            Cullen rubbed the back of her neck.

            “She’s…” He honestly had no idea what to say. He’d known Leliana for some time but over the course of time she had become decidedly less inclined to company, content to isolate herself within the rookery. Her network of spies, informants, assassins, and other nefarious agents did most of her work for her, but that made the spymaster no less frightening. Since the last Divine’s untimely demise, Leliana’s once open and cheerful faithfulness had been shut away behind the mask of a woman who had seen much and done much more.

            Cullen once again thanked the Maker that she had allied herself with the Inquisition and not some other power in Thedas.

            Hadiza made her way down the ladder, combing her fingers through her hair as she faced Leliana, bright-eyed and cheerful. It seemed the Inquisitor was the only one who did not seem to fear the Left Hand of the Divine. This was likely due to Leliana becoming Hadiza’s spymaster by default or some other understanding reached between the two women.

            “Leliana! You look well. What have you got for me?”

            The spymaster was quiet for a moment, her face softened and she tilted her head.

            “There is unrest in Orlais,” She began, and Cullen snorted.

            “There’s always unrest in Orlais. Their lot is never happy unless there’s some sort of political tension going on.” Leliana gave him a pointed look

            “After your decision to keep Empress Celene on the throne and make Lady Cassandra the new Divine, there has been…talk.” Hadiza blinked.

            “Only talk, right? Or are those speaking able to cloak daggers behind their words?”

            Cullen decided to back out of this discussion. This was the Game, and not at all his forte. Hadiza had become somewhat adept at it over the last year, dealing with Orlesian nobles and coming under the tutelage of Leliana and Josephine alike. She knew how to say much while saying very little, and it frightened Cullen on some days that perhaps she enjoyed it a little bit more than she let on. As the two women left to speak privately, Cullen turned his attention to the work he had neglected the previous day.

            However, today was awash in new light, and the crack between himself and Hadiza was slowly closing. Without having to worry about where they stood, he found words came easier, and as soon as his reports were done, he fell into the familiar rhythm of his work once more.

            He even penned a letter to his sister, Mia.

            He had promised Mia that he would tell her more of how Her Worship and Inquisitor became simply Hadiza, but he found that he had no words really suited to describe the transformation. He knew the moment he began to love her, when she walked out of the Fade a second time at Adamant, the air of violence curling around her like smoke from incense. She had made a difficult decision in the Fade, and when she told them all she would not banish the Wardens, at first he had been angry, but then he saw the sense in it.

            And he _knew_.

            He described to Mia how Hadiza was most beautiful when she was laughing, and that he’d loved her laugh from the first. She laughed at his silly jokes, and he thought of the previous night, with her smile against his pulse while they whispered softly to one another, speaking of everything and nothing until they both drifted off to sleep.

            He relished waking up to her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp as he roused, half-reluctant, half-eager to pull her in for a lazy kiss. He relished the way she looked at him, as if he were a dream she woke from, her head propped up on one hand, locks of her thick black hair sweeping across her features. During the times her work took her abroad for lengthy periods, he realized his bed wasn’t quite as comfortable without her next to him. The sunrise and birdsong that roused him in the mornings wasn’t quite as pleasant so much as it was harsh. If she was gone too long, emptiness became simply emptiness, and not a space he was sure would be filled again. The darkness that had been beaten back by distraction encroached along the edges of his mind.

            And the nightmares pulled him in again.

            He still had them, even when Hadiza was there, and when they gripped him in full; she roused him gently, reminding him that he was dreaming, reminding him that he was here, at Skyhold, with her. Reminding him that she was real and that she loved him. He never once saw her complain, fetching the chamber pot for him to vomit in when the nightmares took a particularly nasty turn.

            He would lay awake while she sponged away the cold sweat with a warm cloth, speaking softly. Sometimes she’d sing to him. Hadiza had a decent-enough voice for it, and she sang him songs from her own childhood, ranging from childish teasing to bittersweet. Then he would sleep, boneless and dreamless.

            He did not tell Mia these intimate details, nor of the nightmares or the horrors he’d witnessed. No, he skirted the darkness and sought the light.

            He’d commissioned a Ferelden kennel master and had a kennel built. It had cost a great deal, and the Inquisition had to make a formal request to the Queen to part with a pair for breeding, but Hadiza had always wanted a Mabari of her own, and when the Mabari bitches whelped, she would be given a pup of her own that would imprint on her. The kennel master, a young Thierry Ashfall, came from a long line of Ferelden ‘dog-lords’ as the world called them, and it was a way of life so much as it was a passion to raise the war hounds to serve the Crown.

            Aside, there were plenty of Ferelden men and women in the ranks who could form a particular unit specifically for Mabari war hounds should the situation call for it. Cullen did not fail to see the strategic advantage in it.

            When his letter was done, he sanded the ink to dry and folded it carefully, taking the candle at the corner of his desk and dripping wax onto it to seal it. The signet ring that had been commissioned bore no coat of arms, and merely an intricate relief of a lion’s head. Within the pattern, however, was the mark of the Inquisition. He expected no one to intercept his letter, but based on what he’d heard between the spymaster and Hadiza, he did not trust to chance. With the letter sealed and packed away, he decided to call his assistant to send it off.

            The day crept by rather slowly, and by noon Hadiza returned to him, looking a bit weary, but not as if the world were coming to an end. Just as if she’d gotten news she could have lived her entire life without having to hear.

            “Orlesian intrigues?” Cullen asked, rising from his chair. Hadiza wore a tunic of deep crimson velvet with gold stitching, over soft buckskin breeches and over-the-knee black boots. It toted the line between careless and casual, and almost authoritatively formal. She had bound her hair at her nape, and for once Cullen saw her as both the Inquisitor and the woman he loved.

            “Would that it were only that. There’s still clamor about me keeping the Grey Wardens in Orlais…it’s almost as if they think stopping Corypheus somehow meant no more Blights were on the horizon.”

            She sighed, crossing the floor to throw her arms around him and kiss him. Cullen slid his hands up her velvet clad back, sighing contentedly.

            “Does this mean you will be away?” He asked softly. Hadiza shook her head.

            “No, Josephine said she’d handle it. That’s her department. If a rift opens up in Val Royeaux then they can bother me. For now, I just want…”

            The knock on his office door was loud and insistent, and the two of them broke apart instantly. It was silly, really, as everyone knew they were together, but it also did not do well to appear in an unprofessional fashion in front of their subordinates. Cullen sighed.

            “Duty calls.” He laughed, then called out, “Enter.”

            One of his men entered, bearing a report from the Western Approach.

            “Your Worship,” He greeted, fist over his heart, “Commander. Captain Rylen has an update on the Approach, ser.”

            This was perhaps the first time in a while Hadiza had seen Cullen as the commander and not the man. She watched the exchange carefully. Cullen took the report, eyes roving over the words critically, mouth set in a grim line.

            “Quiet, save for the occasional darkspawn,” He muttered, then lifted is gaze to the soldier who was waiting patiently. Cullen took his quill, dipped it in ink, and penned a response beneath the report. Sealing it and wrapping it, he handed it off.

            “See to it that the supplies are sent as soon as possible.” He said.

            “Ser!” The soldier saluted and promptly left. Cullen waited until the door shut before he relaxed. Hadiza smiled.

            “Love,” He said to her and her expression changed, “I believe that for once the rest of my day is uncharacteristically free. And I have not forgotten your offer from last night.”

            Hadiza’s smile turned wicked.

            “Which one? I made quite a few last night.” Cullen lightly pinched her side, making her laugh.

            “You know which one I’m referring to, although I have not forgotten the other more…lurid offers made to me.” Hadiza feigned delicacy, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead.

            “What’s that? I suddenly can’t recall…I must have been in a fit of rapture.”

            He pinched her again, although it was more of a tickle than anything. After her laughter subsided she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

            “Then you are ready to begin?” She asked him, her expression equal parts expectant and equal parts serious. Cullen wanted to capture that expression in his memory, looking at her like this was…he knew he was too deep in love to climb out, now.

            “Yes.” He said and felt like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. “I’m ready.”


	6. The Glade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadiza and Cullen take some time off from the Inquisition to learn about the pieces of themselves that do not fit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberty with the Creation spells as I'm not really sure why the DA dev team changes up that school of magic with each game. You'll find the familiar spells of Origins and II within, of course, and a bit of Inquisition, but there will also be some added spells I feel would fall into the Creation school of magic. Read and comment. Thanks for the folks who are stopping by to give this fic a chance. <3

“Be the one who nurtures and builds.   
Be the one who has an understanding and a forgiving heart one who looks for the best in people.   
Leave people better than you found them.”   
―Marvin J. Ashton

 

            When Cullen said he was ready, Hadiza took him seriously. The first thing she did was informing the other two advisors that she and Cullen would be away for the rest of the day and unless the sky was tearing open again and the world was ending, they were not to be disturbed. While both found it odd, the two attributed it to them needing time alone together, and left it at that. Hadiza and Cullen tacked up their mounts, packed up supplies, and rode out of Skyhold. Leliana’s agents had long since found every available path out of the mountains into either Orlais or Ferelden, and Hadiza and Cullen rode side by side in companionable silence.

            Where they wound up made Cullen laugh. It was the same lake he’d taken her to long ago, where he’d attempted to give her the one thing the Templar Order had not. She had declined, not wanting his luck to run out. The memory came to him, and he realized belatedly that Hadiza had taken him somewhere untainted by his eleven years as a warrior.

            Every memory by this lake and the glade within the surrounding forests was a tender one. From the stolen moments of peace and quiet when he was a young boy, to the tender kiss they shared on the old dock.

            They set up a makeshift camp in the glade, the clearing just the right size. Starting a small campfire, they sat, eating an early supper while Hadiza fetched a tome from one of her saddlebags. She sat next to him and he automatically adjusted to allow her to lean against him. The tome looked well-worn, but the bindings were sound. It bore nothing upon its cover save a single symbol. It was a variation of the Chantry’s sunburst symbol, only with what looked to be leaves, circumscribed with a golden circle.

            “Creation magic?” Cullen offered and Hadiza chuckled.

            “I sometimes forget you served in the Circle for almost all of your life. I suppose you had to have become familiar with our tomes out of boredom or curiosity.” She said, running her fingertips over the symbol. Cullen’s arm around her shoulders squeezed gently and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

            “A bit of both at first, although I never really delved too deeply. I have heard this particular school of magic is one of the hardest.”

            Hadiza opened the tome. On the first page was a quote from the Chant:

 

_Opposition in all things:_  
_For earth, sky_  
_For winter, summer_  
_For darkness, Light._  
_By My will alone is balance sundered_  
_And the world given new life._  
_\--Threnodies_  5:5

 

            “You are right,” She told him, “it is because the power to give life and to heal life requires a degree of compassion and finesse few mages have the patience to cultivate. Some are naturally gifted in the craft, but for the most part, most of us excel in the other schools.”

            “The ones more suited to destroy or cause harm.” Cullen said, a bit darkly. Hadiza hesitated.

            “Yes. You should know, Cullen, that it is easy for one to shirk all options and instead draw a sword to reach a solution rather than seek something more peaceful? The same can be said of mages. It is easy for us to reach for fire, lightning, and life-draining spells when pressed. Most of us are too hot-headed and skittish to utilize the spells in this tome.” She laughed.

            “And I count myself among those who would rather use fire than a peaceful aura. But…this was the one school I took joy in learning, even though I never had an opportunity to truly master it.”

            Cullen found his curiosity growing. He had never simply…talked to a mage about the learning process before. He knew that most mages preferred destructive spells, most of them made a point of passive-aggressively practicing in front of the Templar patrols. It served to remind the Templars of how dangerous mages were, but all it did was heighten tension and nurture fear and distrust.

            Perhaps he should have visited the healer’s ward more often to gain a sense of balanced perspective.

            Hadiza opened the tome to the introduction. Cullen rested his cheek on her head, listening to her read, catching the undercurrent of a content smile in her voice, his heart catching along the hooked end of her quiet laugh when she read something she found particularly amusing.

            “Did you know,” She said later, “Dorian is a spirit healer?” Cullen’s brows went up. She’d been teaching him terminology, so he knew what that was.

            “Truly? I never would have taken a Tevinter to be inclined toward nurturing healing.” He responded. Hadiza laughed.

            “Oh yes. He’s an invaluable asset to the team. He’s gifted in spirit healing and necromancy, and when I asked him why his answer was…curious. He told me ‘Diza, it is well and good to wield dominion over the dead, but what good will that do any of us if I cannot attend to those who live?’ I just…I never expected it from him at the time. But now, I think I understand.”

            Cullen turned her to face him, the Creation book between them. The grass was cool beneath them, and the forest was still with the occasional sound of a forest creature or insect. A log crackled on the fire, and he met her gaze.

            “And you? What is your take on all of this?” He asked her. Hadiza shrugged.

            “Those trainers you brought in for me taught me enough, but I prefer Creation magic for a reason, Cullen.” She glanced down at her marked hand. It looked like a wound in her palm, only the shimmering emerald green of the fade swirled within it, glittering like a faceted gemstone. It was at once eerie and beautiful to him, but reminded him too much of the scar in the sky…and what had once poured from it.

            “Every time I close a rift, I feel…different. When mages cast spells, we are told our power comes from the Fade, which before recently, had begun to pass into myth as a place only the Dreamers dwell. Until I walked in there physically, I did not understand where my magic came from. Not truly.”

            “And now?” Cullen took her hands, hands that had killed as often as they worshiped, and twined their fingers. She smiled slightly, glancing up, seeing the faded green of the Fade scar in the sky between the trees.

            “And now I still don’t understand it, Cullen. Why are some of us more attuned to magic and others are not? Are mages truly cursed or was our purpose in the Maker’s design altogether different?”

            That was a question Cullen had never heard asked. Not aloud.

            “I do not think mages are cursed,” He said honestly, searching for the right words, “but perhaps the Maker chooses you all for a higher purpose, one we aren’t privy to.”

            “He does that a lot.” Hadiza joked and Cullen laughed.

            “So it would seem. But I wonder, what _is_ it like? How do you walk the fine line between that temptation and just…being yourself? Why are you content with the power granted you while other mages strive for more than they can usually handle?”

            Hadiza was very quiet, now. She had promised him no secrets, had promised to answer any questions he deigned fit to ask, and though it would be difficult—as she knew it would be—she would oblige him. This was, after all, completely for his own peace of mind.

            “I do not know,” She said softly, “I would be lying if I said that I have not considered it. I have seen what happens to my fellow mages when they consort with demons, or they attempt blood magic. I do not think…I do not think demons unnecessarily evil, Cullen. I think they—like all else in our world—simply are.”

            “How? They are…they are…” He could not find the words. Hadiza shook her head.

            “They exist as only they can, love. It is we—the mages—who evoke and provoke them. When I was a little girl, and I first walked the Fade, I happened upon a spirit. He called himself Wisdom. Did you know he was the first to show me how to control my powers?”

            Cullen froze. A spirit? Or a demon? Was it some trick? Maker had Hadiza been a Maleficar in her youth? Seeing the growing panic in his expression she gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.

            “Do not worry. The spirit attempted nothing with me. No deals were made, no lives were sacrificed. I simply asked it questions and it answered. It also told me how to control my emotions…because demons are attracted to our emotions. And I was afraid in those early years. I would wake, and my room would be covered in frost.” She looked away, toward the fire, the light catching the mercury hue of her eyes. He had never asked her of her time before the Circle. He had only known she’d been sent there as a young girl. Aja never spoke of it either, likely out of respect to her elder sister.

            “What happened? Before the Circle?” He asked her. “I assume someone in your family hid you from the Templars.”

            Hadiza smiled bitterly.

            “My mother. She came to my room that morning, saw the frost, and bid my maidservant to speak of it to no one. My sister and I were supposed to be Templars, you see.”

            “ _No_.” Cullen wanted to laugh. “I am sorry, I just have a hard time seeing you as a Templar. You’re not exactly the most pious warrior.”

            Hadiza struck his arm and he did laugh then.

            “Neither are you, ser. Or have you forgotten that rather passionate recitation of the Chant from the last time you and I prayed together?”

            Cullen’s smile went from amused to a lazy and smug smirk, his eyes growing dark. Oh, he had not forgotten. Never had he been more devout in his faith than that night. The moment passed, however, and he returned to the present, still holding both her hands, thumbs stroking and massaging her palms tenderly.

            “When you…create magic…what is it like?” It was a difficult question, but he had always known there was a distinct difference between the Templars who drew on the lyrium in their blood to use their abilities and the mages who seemed innately attuned to the magic lyrium induced or enhanced. Hadiza was thoughtful, tilting her head as she worked to summon a sufficient answer.

            “I do not know how it is for other mages. Some embrace the arcane, others revile it as a source of shame. I have heard various accounts, but for me…” She smiled and Cullen felt his heart skip a beat. She looked so _sincere_. Truly she was of the _embracing the arcane_ variety.

            “When I make ice, I feel it in my marrow. Like winter moves through me. It is at once bracing and incredibly freeing. For small things, like the spell ‘Winter’s Grasp’, it is no different than a crisp and strong breeze blowing through me.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “I call it a breath from heaven.”

            Cullen smiled. He liked that.

            “For the blizzard, I feel like I’m at once apart of winter and beaten down by it. It’s draining but freeing, but it depletes mana very quickly so I rarely use it unless I have to.”

            “What of the fire? I’ve seen you in the field…you favor it.”

            Hadiza chuckled.

            “Ah. Well. _That_ , my love, is the most indescribable feeling you’ve asked about. Fire—the one I make—doesn’t burn me. There’s a…hmm…when we cast, there’s a shield that forms over us, like our body’s natural defense against our own spell. We can’t see it, but every time I cast a spells it forms. It tingles and feels like goosebumps.”

            Cullen looked fascinated. He’d never heard any mage describe spellcasting before. Mostly because the mages in Kinloch Hold kept to themselves, and the ones in Kirkwall dared not show an ounce of joy in their craft lest Meredith suspect them of blood magic and wield the brand. This was the first time he’d heard any accounting of the differences between Templar magic and mage magic.

            As far as he knew, thus far, they were the same save for the source of each.

            “And this.” He touched the book between them. Hadiza’s smile was a slow thing, like a sunrise. This was her favorite, he could tell.

            “When I was in the Circle, I apprenticed in the healer’s ward for a year. During that time, I was schooled in Creation magic. It is mostly used to mend or defend oneself passively, but it is very difficult. It drains very little mana, but requires the most focus and grace. Would you like to see?”

            Cullen hesitated briefly. He wasn’t sure he was ready for a live demonstration. Sensing his unease, Hadiza shrugged.

            “Another time, then.” She voiced his thoughts and he relaxed. He turned a page in the book, eyes roaming over the words, then over to the diagram that described the proper way to cast a Life Ward spell.

            “I call it the ‘Skin Of Your Teeth’ spell,” Hadiza laughed when his gaze flickered up to hers, questioning, “you cast it preemptively, and when the person you gave it to is on the brink of collapse, it activates and replenishes their life force.”

            Cullen’s gaze fixated on the diagram. It involved a complex series of hand movements, and what looked to be the need of a staff. He turned the page, read the text, then went to the diagram.

            “Glyph of Paralysis?” He asked her.

            “Exactly what it says. It’s a ground spell. You cast under the feet of the target and they can’t move. Works wonders on enemies that won’t hold still long enough for you to hit them.”

            Cullen frowned.

            “How is this Creation magic if it is used to harm?” He demanded, not understanding. Hadiza leaned back on her hands.

            “It is not used to harm, not always. The paralysis does not cause pain or suffering. It merely…holds the person in stillness. This is especially useful when working on a squirming patient. I…had to sew up a few wounds. Some of the patients were hysterical during their ordeal.”

            Cullen was quiet. He understood. Still, it stung his pride to know that so many Circles harbored so many dark secrets like Templars abusing the mages in their care. Perhaps Samson had the right of it when he challenged the Orders’ edicts and aided mages in whatever way he could. Samson had tried to reason with him whenever the topic came up. Again, Cullen felt ashamed of the man he was. All he knew then was that his experiences in Kinloch Hold had removed innocence from his ideals that he would never be able to reclaim. Before then, he had been like Samson, pitying mages, seeing them as being treated unfairly.

            He could not imagine what might have happened had he met Hadiza while he was still in Kirkwall. That was a lie, he could. He would have never noticed her. Her brilliance would have been tainted to him; her laughter would have felt like a mockery, a sting on his very existence. He would have never thought to look upon her then as he did now.

            But her magic still terrified him, and all the temptation and danger that came with it.

            Cullen realized, in that moment, that he was not afraid for his own life, but that Hadiza could be lost to him—to the world—if she ever slipped to the other side.

            “Cullen?” Her voice drew him out of the abyss and he focused on the present, even as the shades of clawed hands reached out to take hold of him, planting doubt in his mind, and trying in earnest to taint what Hadiza had planted in his heart.

            Hope.

            “I…I believe that is enough study for now. Shall we rest and head back in the morning?” He asked her. He saw Hadiza’s expression shift to grave concern, but she nodded. She had promised him that what they did here was completely up to him. If he wished to ask her questions, innocuous or no, she would answer. If he wanted her to cast a spell, then she would. She would not deny him answers or peace.

            Cullen released her hands and marked the page in the tome where they left off. After dressing down, they retired to their meager tent. This time, Hadiza lay with her back against his chest, his body molding around hers, and she noticed he held her a little tighter than usual, threading their fingers together to clasp her hands, burying his face in her hair.

            She also noticed that he slept through the entire night without moving.


	7. The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days are much better than others. For once, this was one of those days.

“A single day is enough to make us a little larger or, another time, a little smaller.”   
―Paul Klee

 

            During the days where their workload was light and could be completed quickly, Cullen often requested he and Hadiza ride out to their secret glade in Ferelden. It was a full day’s journey to that place, but Cullen found that instead of pacing his office—which he had done less of in the days since Hadiza had brought him there—he had found a place he could go when he wanted peace of mind. He did not doubt for and instant that the spymaster knew where the Inquisitor and the Commander were running off to, but if Leliana was a master of anything it was keeping secrets, and so far as the lovers knew, she breathed no word of their day-long absences.

            In the glade, they made camp, and Cullen found himself debating with Hadiza the differences between mages and Templars, the ethics in which the Chantry controlled both, and everything in between. He found her to be engaging and passionate, but not unreasonable. She understood the merit of the Circles, but felt the Chantry was too paranoid to run them properly.

            “Fear breeds distrust and resentment, my love,” She said to him in her calm and even lilt, a Marcher through and through, “the more the Templars pressure us, the more tempted and desperate the mages become to free themselves from the pressure. From what we heard of Kirkwall, your Knight Commander was the very embodiment of why the system needs reform.”

            Cullen could not argue that. Meredith was right to fear, as for some reason Kirkwall had been overrun with blood mages and Maleficar, but her methods were harsh, breeding fear and resentment in the ranks to the point where she was accusing anyone who did not blindly follow her orders of harboring apostates, blood mages, abominations, and consorting with demons. The red lyrium had heightened and magnified it, true, but it could not have nurtured the seed had it not already been there.

            “Then what do you propose? Allow the mages to run uncheck? Shall we bear our necks to the sword of Tevinter while we’re at it?” He demanded. Hadiza laughed, as she always did when he got growly with her.

            “Of course not! I’d never suggest allowing mages simply run amuck. Maker’s breath Cullen you make it sound as if we’d streak naked through Thedas by light of the moon. I’m more than familiar with the why of the Circle. The how of it, however, is something that bears revising. Templars are well and good, I’ve known good Templars in my time, but the Chantry preaches fear and prejudice toward mages as if we are not mortal at all.”

            Cullen tilted his head. He remembered his words to the Champion of Kirkwall.

            _Mages can’t be treated like people. They aren’t like you and me._

To Hawke. A _mage_. How could he have been so foolish?

            Then he remembered being covered in blood as his comrades were torn apart, screaming for help that would never come. A desire demon’s laughter echoed in his mind and suddenly he was pulled into the darkness, like an ocean wave rolled over him, taking him under.

            _Eden. That was her name; Eden, one of the few female Templars in the Circle, of high middling years. She often kept to herself, offering a quiet word of advice and encouragement to the younger men. She had been at Kinloch Hold a long time and she knew the sort of cabin fever that could manifest when posted in such a lonely, isolated place like this._

_Mother Eden, the men had nicknamed her, for she gave succor much like a Chantry mother would, and never said an unkind word about anyone. She often smiled at Cullen, and talked about her son who was almost his age. She had no portrait of him, or of her late husband, but she knew her son lived in Crestwood, with a relative. Cullen had liked her, even Knight-Commander Gregoir had nothing ill to say of the woman, and called her a fine, upstanding example of what the Order stood for._

_She had died, trying to defend the barracks._

_Cullen hadn’t seen her death, but he had tripped over her corpse while trying to escape. She had been so peaceful in life, always smiling, sipping her tea in the mess, and looking contemplative and serene. She could be found in the chantry, often deep in prayer. She said she had prayed for the safety of both the Templars and their mage charges, and that one day there would be no need for such harsh corralling of innocent people out of fear._

_She had believed as he once did, even though she had likely seen more than Cullen had in his short lifetime._

_And she had died defending that belief._

_Her eyes were open, wide-eyed with fear, her face frozen in the rigor of death, her hand still clutching her sword, dried blood between the fingers. Her left arm was gone, and her shield had been nowhere to be found. Cullen barely had time to kneel and shut her eyes before he was set upon by a group of shades. They converged on him, hissing in their infernal voices, claws raised. Cullen opened his mouth to scream—_

“Cullen!”

            Hadiza’s voice emerged in his head like a light in a mire-like darkness, pulling him from it even as it sucked at his subconscious, attempting to drag him back. Hadiza was talking, his surrounds were blending together. He was at once in Kinloch Hold and in the glade and for once Cullen could not tell which was which.

            “Cullen!” Hadiza kept saying his name until Kinloch Hold began to fade, bleeding away like a watercolor in the rain, the colors washing out, the shrieks of the shades fading like a waking dream, until all that was left was the glade, the heavy silence of the forest, and Hadiza, holding his face tenderly, tears in her eyes.

            “You’re here. In our place. With me. Hadiza. It’s evening…” She whispered. “…Corypheus is dead. You’ve been free of _it_ for eleven years.”

            Cullen’s mouth moved but no words came. He hesitated, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. It was warm…and his thumb brushed a tear from her face that escaped.

            “Hadiza…Andraste guide me…did I…? Did I hurt you?”

            She shook her head. No. Cullen felt relief wash over him, pulling her down to rest his forehead against her own.

            “I’m so sorry, love,” He murmured, “Sometimes I…sometimes I can’t…”

            “I know.” She whispered. “I know. That’s why I’m here. To anchor you.” Cullen loved her in that moment in a way he hadn’t before. He took his strength from her, breathing deep until their breaths synchronized, until his mind was as still and calm as the forest around them.

            “Will I ever be free of it?” He asked, though it was not a question he wished to answer. Hadiza bit her lip.

            “Only time can answer that, Cullen. I can only help offer what peace I can. It’s why I suggested this. I thought if…I thought if you understood it would help to dull the pain.” Cullen kissed her, then. It was a tender and soft kiss, one of gratitude.

            “You did not have to do this for me, you know.” He told her but she sat back on her heels, watching him.

            “It is a side-effect of loving you, Cullen. I feel compelled to aid you any way I can think of. Do you want to stop?”

            Cullen thought about it. He could have said yes, that the memories were too painful, that he did not know when he would have another flashback, and he could not guarantee her safety in the bargain.

            But he also understood that she was creating a place for him to bleed the poison from a wound a decade old.

            _Uldred marked you, but did not make you._

            Indeed.

 

 

 

            Hadiza slept that night, but Cullen did not, and instead was content to hold her, listening to the steady inhale and exhale rhythm of her breathing, the lightest rumble of a snore threading through. He breathed deep the scent of her hair, a soft almost subtle hint of lavender. He let his thoughts dwindle down to a microcosm of her, reliving his favorite memories of her while she slept. The first time she laughed, the first time she flirted with him and he like an idiot had failed to realize it.

            He felt a strange giddy joy remembering when she’d gone to the stables and found the dracolisk waiting for her there. Cullen had read one of her ‘informal reports’ to him about the creature, remembering how she cooed over how much she loved it, and so Cullen had set to the task of acquiring her one of her own. She had ridden nothing else since.

            He wondered how she’d react when the kennel was done and the Mabari puppies were born.

            Smiling into her hair he shut his eyes.

            Instead of a nightmare, he dreamed. It was the first good dream he’d had in a while, and Cullen clung to it like a lifeline.

            _The house was modest in size, a reflection of the man who built it, and situated at the top of a grassy hill. Spring had come and the fields were in riotous bloom, peppering the rolling green expanse of land with dots of vivid color made brighter by the dazzling sun._

_Cullen was still in bed, his arms wrapped around the woman he loved, heedless of the dawn, content to drowse with his lips against her nape, murmuring into her skin. Hadiza was very still in her sleep, exhausted, and Cullen’s hands drifted down, grinning as they rounded over her protruding belly._

_“Yes, I’m still pregnant…” She mumbled and Cullen laughed, pressing kisses along the back of her neck. Hadiza sighed, content to lie there, and reached clumsily for one of his hands. He offered one and she laced their fingers, much as she always did when they slept in._

_“Boy or girl?” He asked her. Hadiza laughed._

_“We won’t know until they’re born, love. I’ve a feeling it’s a girl.” She murmured, the smile in her voice unmistakable. Cullen sat up, surprised._

_“Really? How can you tell?” He sounded like a curious little boy right then and Hadiza laughed. Even after all this time it still turned his heart upside down, it was infectious and he smiled despite himself._

_“I just…know. She’ll probably take after you, Commander.” Hadiza turned in his arms, slow and careful, sighing in exhaustion when she rested on her side facing him. Cullen kept his eyes on her face. It was fuller, as her pregnancy progressed, and he’d become a nuisance of worry since she’d come home from the healer with the news. After several weeks, Cullen had seen to it that Hadiza wanted for nothing. If it proved too heavy, he lifted it; if she needed it, he fetched it for her. It had been very endearing at first, but Hadiza often chided him that she was perfectly capable of doing things for herself. She wasn’t made of porcelain._

_Still, it was their first child, and Cullen worried._

_“You’re a lovely sight in the morning.” He said suddenly, brushing his thumb along the elegant curve of her brow. She smiled slightly, almost shyly. Despite their marriage Hadiza still felt a thrill when Cullen said things like that to her. And Cullen, for his part, still blushed when Hadiza paid him back the same._

_“I’m fat, tired, and lazy.”_

_“And beautiful.” Cullen added._

For the first time, Cullen roused from sleep fully rested, and before Hadiza. She lay in stillness, not pregnant, but still beautiful and Cullen found himself at odds with his dream and reality. He…he wanted this with her. He wanted to build them a life outside of the Inquisition where he could love her freely and fearlessly. He wanted to watch her grow round with their child in her belly, and feed her honeycomb and lick the droplets from her mouth when he kissed her. He wanted to wake up to those glittering eyes and her laughter.

            He wanted the sunlight to banish the darkness once and for all.

            Cullen lay awake, the first light of dawn still some time away, but he felt a renewed vigor in his blood, a bolstering of his weathered courage to fight the demons that reached for him from the corners of his mind. He understood what Hadiza meant to him, and what she was attempting to show him.

            In that moment, he could not have loved her any more than he did right then. He wanted to wake her, wanted to kiss her soundly, wanted to dance even when he knew he couldn’t, but for this revelation he would try. He wanted to shout, sing, _love_. It was the first morning that did not see him roused from sleep, rigid and tense, fear in his eyes and his mouth locked in silent cry. And there had been no magic involved, only his own determination and his own will to be free of it.

            When they returned to Skyhold, Cassandra remarked that Cullen was looking well, and he smiled.

            Yes, he was. He was looking well enough for a start.


	8. The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brighter the day, the darker the night. Even starlight can't save you from your own shadow.

“Don't stay too long in the shame-filled grounds of relapse.  
Fertile soil awaits your return and your recovery.”   
―Holli Kenley

 

            They made progress in their tentative endeavor. It became a habit over the weeks. The Inquisitor and her Commander would take an overnight sojourn into Ferelden, and return looking better than when they left.

            But there came a time when that was not so.

            In truth, both of them should have expected it, but Cullen most of all. After his revelation weeks earlier, he’d found himself eager and willing, and Hadiza had become the most beautiful person in his life. He penned letters, and even managed to send his sister more than a few, laconic lines of updates. Mia’s responses were prompt and enthusiastic, sometimes two to three pages worth. Cullen found himself eager to meet his nieces and nephews, and see his family again. He saved the letters in a small lockbox under his desk, and then when the work was done, he would gather what he needed and ride out with Hadiza to their glade which had become sacrosanct to the two of them.

            That day, as they worked through the tome of Creation, he asked her to demonstrate it. Hadiza’s brows rose.

            “You’re sure?” She asked him. Cullen was quiet a moment, and then gave her a firm nod.

            “Did you have a spell you desired to see?” She asked him, gentle and warm and loving and he felt at ease, more receptive to see magic spun from her hands than anyone else.

            “The Cleansing Aura…it sounds much like a Templar ability.” Cullen said thoughtfully and Hadiza sat back on her heels.

            “In a sense,” She said slowly, “only the Templar version neutralizes all magic within range. For a mage, it means we give off healing magic and restorative energy. You are sure this is the one you want?”

            Cullen nodded. It sounded harmless enough. Hadiza let out a sigh and prepared herself. Cullen felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, a sign of the old fear attempting to claim him. He could feel the raising of chills along his skin, as there was a significant change in the air around him. Hadiza’s skin seemed to glow, her eyes obscured with white light. She held her arm out to her sides, palms up in a gesture of openness.

            And then the spell hit him; no, that was a poor description. It rolled over him like soft, warm water, running along his skin, seeping into his pores, suffusing his limbs with vigor and his bones felt less weary for it. He realized belatedly that he had let out a groan of relief and a sigh as his body’s old hurts momentarily vanished, caught in the range of her cleansing spell. A mantle of peace settled over him and he watched Hadiza, who was watching him, sitting in perfect stillness, the spell sustained.

            Then she withdrew it and Cullen felt as if someone had put the fire out in their camp. The warmth lingered a moment longer before it too faded, but the ache in his bones did not return.

            “Ah…oh…that was…” Cullen finally managed to breathe and Hadiza smiled shyly at him.

            “Maker…” He gasped. “That felt…good.”

            Hadiza laughed.

            “It’s supposed to. It’s a healing spell. It keeps my allies from flagging in a fight. Did you…?” Her look took on that of concern and Cullen smiled, rolling his shoulders.

            “There were some aches and pains, and then there weren’t. It was like…”

            “…taking a warm bath?” She finished and Cullen laughed at the thought for some reason. It amused him and it pleased him. He wished all magic were this pleasant. He wished he could bask in that warmth and cleanse the stain on his soul.

            Whatever expression he wore, Hadiza seemed to catch it, reaching out to him.

            “There’s other healing arts I’ve yet to discover, but…you picked a good one. It does not drain my mana as much as others, and it’s strengthened by my willingness and desire to heal those around me.”

            Cullen caught her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles tenderly. Hadiza let him, each kiss sending a thrum of sensation through her skin, making the roots of her hair tingle as she shivered. His stubble scraped lightly on her flesh, adding a new, prickling sensation juxtaposed with the aching gentleness of his mouth.

            “I love you.” She said, so soft he almost missed it. Cullen paused, startled. It was so rarely said between them that he was surprised when it came unbidden.

            “I know I don’t say it as often as I should,” She continued, “But…I do.”

            Cullen’s grip on her hand tightened and he tugged her forward. Hadiza yielded with a willow’s grace, coming to him and sighing in the welcome embrace of his arms. His mouth found hers, kissing away her good sense, whispering to her how much she meant to him. Cullen, she found out, could be very heartfelt when he wanted to be. It was so new to him, this— _them_ —and so he reveled in it every time he discovered something new.

            Like how deeply in love he was, for instance.

            They made love, then, in the glade, surrounded by only their tiny campsite and the forest. The smell of bruised grass rose up around them, fragrant and sweet, and they laughed into the warm night air as they alternated between talking and making love. When they ran out of words, they used their bodies, and Cullen took his time with her, relishing the taste of her skin, like fresh-turned earth. When her cries grew insistent and her breath began to whine in her chest from his ministrations, he took her again, tumbling her backward onto their bedroll, her legs over his shoulders, with him hilted deep.

            In the end, they were exhausted and spent, panting and sweating, marveling at how different the world looked. They lay in one another’s arms, a tangle of limbs, and Cullen finally looked up. The cloud cover had passed and the stars shone like little diamonds against the velvet sky between the trees.

            He smiled, immensely pleased.

            “I know that face…” Hadiza said sleepily, her head resting on his chest, “…you make it every time I lose a chess match.”

            Cullen laughed, turning his head to brush his lips against her forehead, his arm giving her a squeeze.

            “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” He replied, his gaze turning back to the sky.

            “Do what?” She asked him, genuinely curious. Cullen sighed, shutting his eyes.

            “Make love to you beneath the stars. You’re as beautiful by starlight as you are by candlelight.”

            Hadiza’s laughter echoed into the night.

            “Maker! If anyone knew how much of a sweet-talker you were, they’d have a fit.”

            Cullen was feeling good, and for some reason her quip energized him anew, and so he tumbled her again, turning her laughter into something far more personal; something that was his and his alone.

            They slept afterward, and Cullen slipped into his memories.

 

 

            _“Leave that one alive.” Uldred was saying to two desire demons._

_“I want to use him later…as an example. But you are welcome to have your way with him, so long as he is physically whole and alive when I return.” Cullen watched as Uldred ascended the steps into the Harrowing chamber, leaving the young Templar at the mercy of his sworn enemies. He had long since stopped screaming at Uldred, demanding to know why he turned to the darkness. What had driven him to this madness? Did he not see the lives it cost to consort with demons and become an Abomination?!_

_Was this not the very outcome he had preached against?_

_Cullen despaired, attempting to reconcile what he thought he knew, with the grisly truth before him._

_One of the desire demons approached Cullen, sauntering like something out of a dream, and he wagered no few mages had fallen prey to its wiles. It tilted its horned head at him, a curious expression._

_“Who is Galatea?” It asked him. Cullen felt the name like a lance in his heart. The second demon joined the first._

_“Galatea? I am more curious as to who this Hadiza woman is. Who has moved your heart so strongly that your thoughts and desires encompass only her?”_

_Their shapes were changing._

_How did they know about…?_

_One wore the Warden’s face, a beautiful and severe young woman, but there was something **off** about her. He could tell it was mere illusion; bait to lure him in._

_He knelt, clasping his hands together in prayer._

_“Cullen.” It was Hadiza’s voice._

_“No!” He protested. “I’ll not be taken as the others were! You’ll not have me!”_

_“Cullen, you’re dreaming.”_

_Part of him wished that were true. How had the desire demon taken her face? How had it known? Cullen continued to pray, reciting the Chant in a fierce whisper, falling back on his Templar training. His faith would see him through this trial and the Maker would take him or strengthen him as He willed._

_“Cullen!”_

He sat up in a cold sweat. The campfire was out, embers glowing and dimming in a light breeze, and the bedroll was empty of Hadiza’s presence. She was across from him and he glanced at her face.

            “Hadiza! Did I…I was…?”

            She shook her head softly.

            “You’re fine, Cullen. I’m fine. You were dreaming.”

            Cullen noticed her tone was flat, her voice reedy as if she had a sore throat. He hesitated, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair and lay back down. Hadiza did not join him that night.

            When they rode back to Skyhold, he noticed, with a degree of shame, the bruises on her forearms, as if someone were gripping her in an attempt to break her.

            They did not speak of it.

 


	9. The Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aja. Fucking. Trevelyan.

“It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses, we must plant more roses.”   
―George Eliot

 

For three weeks Cullen didn’t speak to her.

            For three weeks he agonized over what happened in the glade. Was nowhere safe for him? No, unlike those who ran from _things_ , he merely ran in a futile attempt to escape the prison of his memories.

            No matter where he went, no matter what sanctuary he and Hadiza wrought, that weight was one he could not shed, one he could not run from. He carried that darkness everywhere with him. And now the woman he loved bore the consequences of attempting to help him out of that darkness.

            Guilt gnawed at his gut like a carrion creature, plucking at particularly painful memories, tainting them with his growing anger at himself. He was quick to snap impatiently, drilled the men without mercy, and snarled when they made mistakes he deemed careless.

            It was Aja who had to pull him aside when he laid into a particularly young recruit. The boy had been on the verge of tears as the Commander barked out just what he thought of the boy’s shield handling and footwork. Aja finally came to him, taking him by the elbow and pulling him aside.

            “Dismiss the men.” She said evenly, her expression deathly serious. Cullen glared at her.

            “Who are you to give me orders?” He snarled. “If you think because you are Hadiza’s sister that that makes you somehow her secon—“

            “ _Dismiss_. The men.” Aja said again, her grip on his elbow tightening. Cullen jerked his arm away and growled out an order for them to bathe and be ready for barracks inspection in an hour to be conducted by one of his lieutenants. When the men cleared the field, Aja handed him a shield.

            “What are you playing at?” He asked. “I’ve no time for games.”

            Aja said nothing, merely drew her sword, hefting it in one hand to test its weight and loosening the straps that kept her shield secured to her back. Cullen was openly frowning, now. Despite everything, his hand went to grip his sword and he drew it from its sheath smoothly. It caught the dying sunlight, its edge glittering like a smoldering fire. Aja still said nothing.

            They began to circle one another like wild cats, slow and deliberate. They had sparred many times before this, but there had never been anything but good nature and an openness to learn behind their strikes, parries, and dodges. Cullen learned new ways to use his shield and maneuver on the field, and Aja learned how to channel her strength into the balance between her sword and shield, relying on both as oppose to one over the other.

            None of those niceties colored this fight, for that is what it was: a fight.

            Aja attacked first, an opening gambit as she lunged, leading with her shield up, and her sword pointed. It was an easily deflected move, and Cullen’s shield came up, Aja’s blade glancing from its battered surface before he dug in with his forward leg and brought his shield up. Aja crashed into him and staggered back. Cullen was as steadfast as the most fortified hold in Thedas. When he decided to plant himself, moving him was difficult.

            Good.

            The spar grew more complex, with their footwork creating a dance that would make any Orlesian noble’s head spin. Cullen was no slouch, even in the lackadaisical days following the Inquisition’s victory over Corypheus. He remained vigilant, as attuned to his weapons and physical conditioning as ever.

            He had Aja to thank for that, oddly enough.

            “Have something to prove, Trevelyan?” Cullen demanded as they locked blades. Aja said nothing at first, and then…she grinned.

            And spat in his face.

            Cullen wanted to wipe it, but instead it stoked his fury. He came at her hard, and she felt it, her shield arm bearing the brunt of his furious strikes, pressing her into a desperate defense, but Aja was no fool. He left his guard open at one point, but the window of opportunity was fleeting at best. It was just what she needed to step inside his guard and head-butt him beneath his chin.

            Cullen’s head snapped back, and Aja winced more from the pain of the impact than anything. She rarely used that tactic but it was nothing Dorian couldn’t fix when this fight was over. Cullen came to almost immediately, only to find Aja’s blade at his throat.

            “You’ve gotten sloppy, Commander,” She said coolly, “this wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the bruises on my sister’s arms, would it?”

            Cullen hesitated and Aja’s silver eyes narrowed. It was always a marvel how the two Trevelyan sisters could ever be kin. Hadiza looked every bit the noble, fine-boned and haughty, with a proper lilt to her speech. Aja looked like a wildling, with kohl-lined eyes, a scar on her face that was no accident, and enough fight in her to be mistaken for a Qunari, according to Bull.

            There was nothing soft about Aja as far as Cullen could tell, though to hear Blackwall speak of her was far different. Right now, she was all hard lines and angles, all violence and battle-ready.

            “Do you want me to yield?” Cullen demanded quietly. “That we may speak of this in a more appropriate setting?”

            Aja considered a moment, then slowly took her blade away and sheathed it. She strapped her shield to her back, and Cullen did the same. After assessing one another, Cullen made his way back to his tower, where Aja followed.

           

 

           

            “She never told you, I’m assuming, about the nightmares.” Cullen said later, as he washed his face in a small basin in the corner of his office. Aja leaned against his desk, watching him as one might watch prey from the safety of cover.

            “No. She respects your privacy, and I suspect that trumps any filial piety she may have left for the lot of us.” Aja smiled crookedly and Cullen dried his face. He turned to face her and Aja noted he looked tired. She wanted to ask if he’d been sleeping but she suspected he’d only deflect. Like as not, he probably kept these things hidden from everyone but Hadiza.

            “We were out,” Cullen began, “we made camp. We thought I would be fine. I hadn’t had the nightmares for some weeks. But then…it all came flooding back at once.”

            “And when she tried to wake you, you hurt her.”

            Cullen winced as if the words were flames too close to his skin. Aja pitied him in that moment, but only in that moment.

            “I don’t even remember doing it, Aja!” He cried. “Maker! She didn’t shed a tear, didn’t breathe a word to me about it, just told me to go back to sleep. And now I can’t even bear to look at her after seeing what I did. Andraste preserve me, what if the next time it happens it’s worse?”

            “Shut up.” Aja said fiercely. Cullen drew back as surely as if she struck him. Aja was serious, now.

            “You’re driving yourself mad with possibilities instead of tackling what actually happened. Maker’s ballsack you’re dense, Commander.” Cullen’s eyes flashed but she held up her hand.

            “Hear me out. Look, you two are mad about each other, that much is obvious. My sister thinks the sun shines out of your ass—Maker only knows why—and every time you two are in the same room you look drunk.”

            Cullen’s cheeks went red and he rubbed the back of his neck.

            “But I’ve never hurt her before, Aja. Not like that. Not enough to leave… _bruises_. If she’s furious with me or even frightened I cannot even blame her.”

            Aja rolled her eyes.

            “If you two stopped avoiding each other and actually talked you might fucking find out? Andraste’s flaming tits, she’s been on the verge of tears for three weeks because she thinks you don’t want anything to do with her.”

            That brought everything in the room to a standstill. Cullen blinked, unsure he’d heard correctly. Aja watched the sea-change of his expressions with light amusement. From the outside looking in, both Cullen and Hadiza were being silly about this entire situation. But she understood the gravity of it as well, and what it meant if the distance between them was allowed to grow unchecked.

            “What do I even say?” Cullen asked. “Maker, I…”

            “That’s on you, Cullen,” Aja said, making for the door, “But you _will_ speak to one another, and you _will_ reach a resolution, otherwise I’ll be relieving you of your command and taking control of your army.” She didn’t give him a chance to retaliate, and let the sting against his pride burn as he steeled his resolve. The quickest way to galvanize him into action was to hurt his pride, question his ability to lead, and watch him strive to prove one wrong.

            Aja smiled as she left.

            Later that evening, it was said the Commander was seen heading through the main hall to the Inquisitor’s private quarters.


	10. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Hadiza talk. About things.

“I wanted to talk to someone. But who?  
It’s moments like this, when you need someone the most, that your world seems smallest.”   
―Rachel Cohn

 

            He’d been standing in front of her door for a span most would deem far too long. He hadn’t knocked once, and no sound came from the other side of the heavy, wooden door. Before the incident, Cullen had free reign to come and go as he pleased. He spent many nights in her quarters, tangled with her between silken sheets, sharing laughter, light, and love as they sought to put off their duties in the mornings. They had lain awake in the night, a cheery fire crackling in the fireplace, with him tracing lazy patterns on her satin skin, trading stories, and he had drowned in her delightful laughter, watching as her face transformed from haughty to girlish delight. She’d given him a key, and often he’d been allowed to go there and await her return. The door had meant nothing to him during those days…only one last obstruction before he reached his goal.

            Now, the door felt much like a wall, keeping him away from her.

            _Protecting her from me._ He thought bitterly and almost turned around and left, but Aja’s threat remained at the back of his mind, and he knew it was no threat at all. Gathering his courage he lifted his hand to knock.

            The door opened after his first knock and he nearly hit Hadiza in the face before he caught himself. As it turned out, his knuckles lightly bumped her nose before she jerked away.

            “Oh! Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry…” Hadiza rubbed her nose with a pained expression.

            “It’s fine…Cullen…what are you doing?” She asked him and Cullen stood there, feeling foolish. The question stung for some reason, as it should have been obvious. Had she given no thought to speaking to him at all?

            She was wearing a bathrobe and her hair was wet, so he had clearly interrupted.

            “…Hadiza, I came here to…I think we need to talk.” He said. Hadiza’s expression was schooled to neutrality and she opened the door a little wider to let him inside wordlessly. As they ascended the stairs, Cullen noticed that the light in her chambers looked and felt different. The entire atmosphere felt as if he had intruded. Where once she would have been practically begging to ride him on her couch while he wore full armor, now it felt as if she wanted him to wait by the stairs until she was ready to receive him.

            She even went behind the folding screen to change.

            “Hadiza, I wanted to apologize for what happened in the glade. I…I grew too complacent. I thought that with everything we had accomplished together that we had somehow managed to conquer that. I would never deign to hurt you, not in a thousand years.” He was rambling and stopped himself.

            There was silence from behind the folding screen.

            For a moment, he thought she was ignoring him, but when she came out, she was smiling.

            “All this time I thought you were upset with me,” She laughed, but it was not that throaty-to-trill note he loved; this was a laugh tinged with bitterness. She was wearing a simple pair of loose-fitting pants, made of what appeared to be satin, and a matching long-sleeved top. He watched her move, watched the material slide against a body he knew with heart-quaking intimacy. He knew there was an ache in her lower back from the way she moved, pressed her hand briefly to her right hip. He wanted to touch her, but this chasm between them was too wide for him to simply jump across. Instead, he waited, hanging on her every breath, hinging his fate to curve of her smile, the cut of her gaze, and the soft tones of her voice.

            “You didn’t mean to hurt me, Cullen,” She continued, leaning over her desk, “I know that. But I also knew you’d eat yourself alive with guilt if I pressed too hard so soon. So…”

            “…you let me eat myself alive with guilt by not speaking with me? Hadiza I’ve been in agony for three weeks. You’d not even spare me more than a curt glance in the war room. I thought I had…I thought I had broken something between us.”

            Hadiza paused from whatever she was studying on her desk. It appeared to be a letter, though from his vantage point he could not tell if it was an official letter or one of a personal nature.

            “Cullen.” Her voice was a summons; of that there could be no doubt. Cullen went to her, unbidden, as surely as if he were in her thrall. Without another word she hugged him and after his brief moment of shock, his arms came around her and he dipped his head to bury his nose in her hair, breathing her deep. He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to have any distance between them save a pant of breath. She pulled away slightly to look at him, and her smile was warm.

            “I’m sorry.” He whispered. Hadiza shook her head.

            “We’ll try again. That’s…that’s what happens in healing. Sometimes it takes longer than we anticipate.” She reached up, stroking his brow with her thumb. Cullen noticed belatedly that the bruises on her arms were gone. He wondered if she were masking them with magic, or if the three weeks had seen her healed swiftly and cleanly.

            “The glade. I feel like…I feel as if I’ve tainted it somehow. These nightmares are not something I can leave behind, much as I want to. They go where I go.”

            Hadiza’s expression was pensive and she cupped his cheek, watching him lean into her touch.

            “Then perhaps you’d like to talk about them? Perhaps keeping them hidden is what’s ailing you. You never tell me what happens, or what happened. Perhaps it’s time you did.” She said quietly. Cullen felt his body tense at the very notion. He couldn’t speak them aloud. He’d never spoken of them to anyone, and he feared breathing them into the air like some noxious fume from which there would be no escape. Then again, perhaps speaking of them would lessen the effect of their poison on his mind. He could not be certain. He wasn’t sure where to begin.

            “We can go to the glade if you wish,” Hadiza said to him, searching his face. Cullen shut his eyes slowly.

            “I fear what may happen if we do, love. I’ve already hurt you once…what if next time is worse?”

            “Cullen, we have bedded together countless times without incident. It was one time, and arguably I am at fault for not letting it run its course. I tried to wake you too soon and…it’s a small price to pay to see you calm.” She ruffled his hair and smiled at his slight grimace of annoyance.

            “Will you stay?” She asked him. Cullen hesitated, glancing at her large bed, with its ornately carved headboard, silken sheets, and elegant duvet. Her bed was inviting, both for the prospect of sleep and because it felt right with her in it. He could not explain it, but his bed felt more like a holding cell to him without her there to mold her body to his. He would toss and turn when she was away, seeking warmth that was never there. Here, her bed was permeated with her natural scent, and the memories held here were precious to him. The mornings spent making love and delaying their duties, the lazy afternoons during the lull in the Inquisition’s missions, the nights he spent making her come for him, again and again, shuddering with a release that unhinged his very soul to hear. The in-between moments, where he wrapped his arms around her, and they simply shared lazy kisses until they fell asleep.

            The nights he didn’t dream at all and instead slept until morning.

            He wondered if staying were the best option, and as much as he wanted to, he felt perhaps it was safer not to.

            “I understand.” Hadiza told him before he could voice his answer, and placed her fingers on his lips, tracing the scar. He’d never told her how he got it, but perhaps like his nightmares, that was a secret best unraveled at another time.

            “Thank you.” He murmured, kissing her fingertips. Hadiza made a sound that might have been a laugh.

            “Get some rest, love. I’m planning another expedition. Apparently there’s still some rogue Venatori in the Approach that need dealing with.”

            Fighting. There was something he understood.

            “I can send word to Rylen if you need it.” Cullen said, confidence in his voice now that he tread familiar and comforting ground. Hadiza shrugged one shoulder, tapping his mouth with her index finger.

            “I believe it won’t be too much trouble. Not everything requires your iron fist, Commander.”

            “If it means keeping you safe and well-supplied with men, it does.” Cullen protested. Hadiza did laugh, then.

            “Fine. Send word to Rylen. I don’t leave for another two weeks, anyway. If I know him, he’d have taken care of the Venatori before I even cross into Orlais. The man’s quite thorough.” She placed her hands on her hips. Cullen watched her a moment, studying her expression. He liked the mask of Inquisitor she wore, loved to watch her in the midst of strategy and planning. Her expertise had grown since she first took up the mantle, and with the aid of her advisors, she’d become adept in subterfuge, diplomacy, and military tactics. She was the head of the organization, but they helped drive the machine.

            He wondered if…he wondered what would happen if Hadiza decided the Inquisition was no longer needed.

            But rifts were yet still open in Thedas and the scars of Corypheus’ attempted coup on all that was holy were still fresh in everyone’s minds. For the first time, Cullen realized that perhaps he was not the only one with nightmares to carry.


	11. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hadiza is away being the Inquisitor, and Cullen doesn't know what to do with all his downtime.

“There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.”   
―John Holmes

 

            Hadiza had gone to the Western Approach, as planned, hunting Venatori. She’d specifically taken Iron Bull, Dorian, and Blackwall with her for this mission. While she was away, Cullen found himself with plenty of time of his own to whittle away. At first, he did paperwork; there was always a mountain of it back when Corypheus was alive and active, his agents and servants causing all manner of mayhem in Thedas. The reports had been endless, and Cullen found that he missed those days. The days where sleep was scarce but the work outweighed his need for it. And the paperwork kept him busy, kept his mind focused on anything but itself.

            He had no such luxury these days.

            So he wrote to his sister, telling her about his life in Skyhold. He found himself with precious little to say, in all honesty. What could he tell her that would not give her cause to worry? Corypheus was defeated; he’d told her that much in his last letter. He also told her of Hadiza, as much as he could without sounding like some lovesick fool.

            Her response had been prompt and intrusive, as usual.

            _When can I expect to meet this illustrious woman? Are you planning to wed her? Will there be babies? You never tell me anything of import, Cullen!_

Cullen smiled, proofreading his letter as he sanded the ink dry and sealed it for delivery. Once all of his paperwork was done, he found himself with time once more, and decided that leaving his tower would not be amiss. It was not uncommon for the Commander to walk the battlements, his men snapping smartly to attention as he did so. From the battlements, he could take in the clean air, let the sharp, crisp sting burn away his self-doubt, and walk a little taller for it. He also frequently returned to the spot where he first kissed Hadiza. Sometimes, if he let his mind drift enough, he could almost hear her quiet laughter, could imagine her sliding into his embrace as they took in the view together.

            But she was not due back for a few weeks at least.

            In those days, he found himself in the company of Aja, for a time.

            Aja, he learned, was remarkably perceptive, and while she appeared at first glance to look the part of a Rivaini raider, with a matching lexicon of colorful words, she did not lack for her own gentle breeding when she treated with nobility. Orlesians found her uncouth, but tolerated her only because her sister was the Inquisitor. Still, Cullen found her company vastly preferable to anyone else.

            Which meant he often found himself in the Herald’s Rest tavern.

            “You know, Commander, you’ve been looking a lot more…” Aja eyed him critically, “…healthy. I take it you’ve been eating more?” Cullen smiled wryly. In the days of war, he’d eaten less than he should have, with the lyrium-thirst and the nightmares taking shifts at robbing him of what little appetite he did have. He found eating distracting and bothersome and often only took time to nibble on something to settle his stomach and then get right back to work. In those days, he was not the only one to have done so, as the entire Inquisition had been on edge. Hadiza herself had to have her armor refitted to her increasingly slender frame.

            Now, however, he had no excuse as to why he ate so little. He suppose it was merely habit, and a soldier’s diet was not the most hearty. As a Templar, he’d been accorded three square meals a day, and one dose of lyrium. In Kinloch hold, the dosage had been spread out to once a week as they had no need to use their abilities so often, so the lyrium settled. In Kirkwall, Cullen burned through one to two doses a day on average, and usually on Knight Commander Meredith’s orders. She had stressed preparedness at all costs.

            “Yes,” Cullen finally answered, “I have. I suppose with the war behind us and the Inquisition playing janitor to everyone’s messes I’ve less to worry about and more time to eat. What of you? The war never seemed to daunt your appetite.” He took a sip of his ale and Aja sat back in her chair, chuckling.

            “Oh it did at times, but I fight better when my stomach isn’t cramping from hunger. I’m not commanding an entire army, so I’ve less to occupy my time between fights.” Aja reached to cut herself a slice of cheese, nibbling thoughtfully.

            “I suppose that makes sense. I would have thought, being a sailor for so long, that landlocked life wouldn’t sit well with you.” Aja wrinkled her nose at that.

            “It doesn’t. I miss the sea. Isabela writes, but never asks me to come back. I’m guessing she has her hands full running her own little armada, now…or whatever it is she’s doing as an admiral. But I’ve got my place. It’s here, helping you guys swab up the messes left behind by everyone’s arrogance and stupidity.”

            “And playing spy and connection for Bann Trevelyan, I’d wager.” Cullen said dryly. Aja blinked at the mention of her father’s name, but said nothing immediately. It was true that her initial purpose was to glean information regarding the rumors surrounding the Inquisitor. However, it seemed as if Bann Trevelyan wished nothing more than to establish a firm connection with his eldest daughter that he might stake a claim in the influence Hadiza wielded.

            Cullen hated politics.

            “Yeah, Father sent me here to ‘spy’ on you all. But he just wants to reinstate Hadiza as heir. You know we had an elder brother who was due to inherit? He died at the Conclave. He was never home and he was already gone when Hadiza was really little. Product of Father’s first marriage, apparently.”

            Cullen’s brows furrowed. This, he did not know. Hadiza had made no mention of an older sibling, half or no. Then again, apparently she’d been very young when that older sibling was already gone.

            “Interesting. Any other family secrets you wish to reveal?”

            Aja grinned.

            “None that I can readily recall, Commander. Care for a chess game?” She asked glibly.

            “Aja, you’re horrible at it. And you cheat. _Horribly_.” Cullen stressed the last word in case Aja forgot her last defeat.

            “True. Never stopped you from playing with Dorian or Leliana.” She said with a shrug.

            “A fair point,” Cullen conceded, “I suppose the only way you’ll ever improve is by playing the best.” As they pushed back their chairs and left for the garden, Aja laughed.

            “Chess master or no, I can still whip you on the practice field, Commander.”

            “Lying does not become you, Lady Trevelyan.”

            “Also true.”


	12. Comfortable

“I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you.  
If you need the medication again, go ahead and take it—I will love you through that, as well.   
If you don’t need the medication, I will love you, too. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love.  
I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you.  
I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.”   
―Elizabeth Gilbert

 

 

            The night before Hadiza returned, Cullen was gripped by another nightmare. He should have expected it, should have known that the nightmares would not end. What made it worse was that there seemed to be no source for them. They were triggered whenever he let his guard down, usually when he’d had a particularly good day.

 

>             _His friends were dead; as were men and women whose names he would never learn thanks to Uldred’s madness. The mages had gone mad, some killed in the confusion, others finally revealing themselves to be blood mages and consorting with demons. Cullen had watched it all unfold, and Uldred had touched him…and while he could not physically feel the effects, he felt as if Uldred had left an indelible mark upon him—upon his very immortal soul—that would never be extricated._
> 
> _The demons tormented him daily, for he was sure based on his body’s cry for rest, that days were passing. At times, when it was quiet, he would allow himself to curl in upon himself, rest his forehead on his knees, and sleep. Always, when he slipped into that black state, when the world’s noise began to fade that was when the demons came for him._
> 
> _They’d wake him with their shrieking, laughing in delight and amusement as he was snatched from much-needed rest, startled and hyper alert, and begin his torment anew._
> 
> _The desire demon wore Galatea’s face, and it was Galatea who laughed and sneered at him, sometimes making lewd gestures._
> 
> _“Is this not what you wanted, Ser Cullen?” It was asked in Galatea’s voice, a sound that had once made his heart skip a beat. Now it merely made him recoil in disgust. The desire demon undid the tunic it wore; bearing Galatea’s breasts and Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, kneeling in prayer. He recited the Chant faithfully, every line a harsh defense against the demons. One demon took a man’s face, the other Galatea’s, and they copulated in front of him, reciting the Chant in mocking, preternatural voices._
> 
> _He held his resolve._
> 
> _The night Galatea came to the Circle, he was sure it was another trick. He was positive. Her face had been at the forefront of his torment for weeks, in various states of debauchery and pain. Cullen had been forced to watch as the object of his affection was debased before him until he no longer wanted her._
> 
> _And there she was, trying to convince him that she was real._
> 
> _He screamed at her._
> 
> _He cursed her name._
> 
> _He cursed himself for falling for a mage of **all things**._
> 
> _And she had watched him with a neutral expression, but her eyes blazed. She glanced to her companions, conferring with them silently. Cullen knew then he had erred, but something within him had broken. Some line had been crossed within himself. He had passed a point where he could no longer view Galatea—or mages—the same again._
> 
> _He begged her to kill them._
> 
> _“No.” She said simply. “I’ll not slay an innocent on the basis that they may or may not be evil. I am not here representing the Chantry’s doctrine.”_
> 
> _Her female companion—the one with black hair and unnaturally gold eyes—had smiled at that._
> 
> _“You would damn us all!” Cullen screamed at her. “You cannot tell maleficarum on sight. I beg of you, end it before they leave this place and inflict their abominable acts upon the world!”_
> 
> _Galatea’s expression did not change, and Cullen wondered if she would consider his words._
> 
> _“You would have me evoke the Right of Annulment in lieu of your Knight-Commander? I’ll save who I can. Even **you**.”_
> 
> _And then she left him._

Cullen woke slowly, but stiffly, opening his eyes first, feeling the lingering pain in his chest from the very raw dream he’d roused from. That was a nightmare of a different sort, one he did not share with anyone. He did not speak of Galatea at all, or what might have been, or how she had played a significant role in his formative years as a Templar. Hadiza knew he had been infatuated with her, but she did not know _this_. She did not know that the demons had worn Galatea’s face to torture him, and that as a result he’d flung senseless and violent words toward her when she sought only to rescue him. He’d hurled invectives at her to drive her away, and he still felt the fool so many years later…only because he had never gotten the chance to apologize.

            Somehow, he felt she would forgive him, but that did nothing for his shame.

            The following morning dawned, but the sunlight was muted from the overcast, which was fine with Cullen, as it suited his mood. When Hadiza rode into Skyhold, bearing the scales and other parts of a high dragon she and her crew had slain, Cullen felt his flagging spirit lift a little. There was no feeling of flight in his soul, like his stomach was in constant free fall, but he knew it should have been there. He knew the nightmares had tainted the feeling the night previous, and hoped that he and Hadiza could begin anew.

            During the debriefing, Hadiza spoke in a hoarse voice, apparently she’d been shouting and screaming during her time in the Approach…or perhaps it was the high concentration of sulfuric fumes in the place. Either way, she was speaking barely above a whisper.

            Later, as Cullen was looking over her report, he learned that Hadiza had been thrown into the plumes of sulfuric gas during the battle, and had taken much of it into her lungs. It was part of why their return had been delayed as Hadiza had spent time in Griffon Wing Keep recuperating until she was well enough to travel. He’d just reached the end of the report when a knock on his door drew him out of his anger and worry.

            “Enter.” He said tersely and Hadiza came in, wearing her customary breeches, boots, and soft cambric tunic. She gave him a small smile.

            “Cullen.” She said his name as if she were about to share with him some grand joke. Cullen heard the notes of her laughter creeping into her voice, although the hoarseness in her throat tempered it. He rose from his seat, smiling at her, all the nightmares and hurt momentarily forgotten as they closed the distance and he swept her up into his arms.

            “Ah, Diza,” He sighed, “You were foolish to go hunting dragons.” He chided but there was no sternness in his voice to back up the chastisement and Hadiza did laugh, but coughed once and decided against it.

            “I didn’t go looking for it. There was some Orlesian researcher who had need of my assistance in retrieving some…never mind.” She kissed him once, twice, and a third time, and finally just opted to keep kissing him. For a moment, there was nothing else in the world save them.

            “Cullen,” She whispered against his mouth, “I missed you.”

            He never thought such simple words could mean so much to him and yet…his spirit did not soar, as it should have. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped, but there was no feeling of endless flight in him as there had been before. He simply could not get himself to feel fully even though Hadiza had done nothing but shower him with affection, ready to put the past behind them and move forward. As if sensing something was a amiss, Hadiza pulled away, brow furrowed, eyes searching his face, questioning.

            “Is everything alright, love? You’ve been quiet since I got back.” She cupped his cheek, thumb stroking tenderly along the high cheekbone. Cullen took her hand away, pressed his lips to her knuckles, and sighed. A firm kiss was all he gave her before he let her hand go.

            “I want to go back to the glade.” He told her; hesitant and cautious when he saw her brows go up in surprise. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from her. Hadiza waited for him to continue, expectant, and when he didn’t she tilted her head.

            “Are you sure?” She asked him. “I know last time you were shaken up.”

            Cullen thought back to the nightmare, of Galatea’s blazing eyes; her righteous fury, and her utter dismissal of his pleas. The way she hadn’t even bothered to look back at him as she marched up the steps into the Harrowing chamber to face Uldred, and how she never once looked at him as she led him back to Knight-Commander Gregoir and ultimately saved his life. Galatea, who had done her duty without question or excuse, had never faltered in the face of imminent peril; and she had not deigned to turn her gaze upon him once.

            Did she despise him? Wherever she was in Thedas or beyond, did she still think back on her memory of him and curl her lip at the wretch he had been? Cullen hazarded a guess that Galatea did not even think of him. She had been so besotted with Alistair it likely no longer mattered. His guilt ate away at him, still, and he realized that he had an answer.

            “Hadiza, I don’t just want to go back. I _need_ to go back. I need to…I need to be somewhere quiet where I can think.” He took a deep breath. It had been his reasoning for refusing to patch his roof. The sunlight, the breeze, the crisp air served to help his thoughts settle. Hadiza studied him a moment, and then nodded.

            “Very well. When we finish up here, when would you like to go?” She queried, and walked closer to him. Cullen glanced toward his desk with a pensive frown. There was still a mountain of paperwork that needed tending to and all of it urgent it seemed. He wanted to leave right away, but duty bound him, and he’d not shirk duty. Not even for a day.

            “As soon as we’re both able.” He murmured returning to his desk. Hadiza gave him one of her soft smiles, the one that made her feline eyes squint slightly, and then she brushed that errant lock of her hair from her face. In the months after the war, she’d let her hair grow longer and Cullen found that he liked it, and as it turned out, Hadiza had been hiding a wealth of waves and curls of her own, which framed her face and added an inviting charm to her face. It was a moment before he realized he was staring at her, his chin resting on his hand, a lopsided smile on his face. She met his eyes, echoing the smile.

            “What?” She asked him. Cullen let out a small laugh, shaking his head.

            “Nothing, it’s just…” He began, watching Hadiza make her way toward his desk, standing in front of him. Without thinking sat up, hands coming to grip her hips.

            “You’re beautiful.” He told her, and smiled helplessly at her laughter, which she hid behind her hand, clearly embarrassed.

            “Cullen…” She admonished playfully and Cullen’s hands traveled up to her waist. He gave a suggestive tug and she spilled into his lap with an ease born of familiarity. For some reason, he felt no urgency to do his work, he simply wanted to bury his face in her chest and breathe deep.

            So he did.

            It was much later, with a neat stack of reports on his desk, and a trail of clothes leading to his bed, that Cullen realized he would not sleep. Much to his relief, Hadiza seemed ill inclined to sleep either. Instead they lay awake, watching clouds scuttle across the sky. The moon was hiding its face, but the stars studded the sky and provided just enough silvery light for them to see.

            “Your bed is so stiff, Cullen.” Hadiza murmured. “How do you bear it?”

            Cullen smiled in the darkness, stroking her shoulder with his fingertips. He thought for a moment before he answered.

            “Compared to the barracks, this is a cloud. Or sleeping on a thin cot while on the march.” He smirked, turning his head, finding her skin, kissing her forehead.

            “Aside, _princess_ ,” He teased, “Not all of us have need of mattresses filled with clouds shaped by the Maker.” Hadiza’s resulting laughter turned his smirk into a grin, and she lifted her head her lips finding his in the darkness, still laughing, but interspersed now with a need to taste him.

            “You jealous? I could have this replaced, you know. Then you wouldn’t be so quick to tease me…you’ll have seen the truth.” She teased back and Cullen laughed, murmuring something about how he could just as easily come to her bed if he wanted to sleep on a cloud.

            “Oh I’ve no doubt about that, love, I assure you.” He said to her, nuzzling her cheek, “I just find this bed infinitely more comfortable with you in it.” And with that, Hadiza promptly decided that the night was indeed very young. Cullen had no trouble sleeping afterward, and he thanked the Maker that the night passed with only harmless dreams and not the skulking phantoms of his past.

            The next day, the two of them gathered their supplies, and rode out of Skyhold toward Ferelden.


	13. Shapeshifter

            Cullen stood at the edge of the glade’s clearing, the reins of his mount in one hand, the handle of his pack in the other. Hadiza stood next to him and she knew, without having to ask, that he was hesitating because he was afraid. He was dwelling on what happened before, and for a moment, she let him.

            “Cullen.” She breathed his name gently after so many heartbeats passed, her free hand reaching beside her to brush her fingertips against his gloved fist. She felt him relax somewhat, heard the sharp exhale as he shut his eyes, trying to reconcile what came before with what was happening at the moment.

            “I’m here.” He told her. “I just…I needed a moment.” He turned to look at her, and then leaned in to press a gentle kiss against the corner of her lovely mouth. Hadiza smiled slightly, her eyes going heavy-lidded with contentment at the contact.

            “Let’s make camp. It will be nightfall soon.” Cullen told her and they turned and entered the clearing. They set up their camp in silence, erecting their tent with practiced ease and efficiency, sorting out their supplies and food stores, and setting up the space for their campfire. Hadiza did not hesitate to begin preparing the meal, taking comfort in Cullen’s presence as he set up their bedroll, and brought out the Creation tome. While Hadiza stirred the beef stew in the pot, Cullen came up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She realized with a growing sense of excitement, that he had stripped off his armor and she could feel the warmth of his body on her back, could feel the healthy, steady cadence of his heartbeat. She bit her lip against a girlish grin.

            “Is it true that one can learn to shapeshift?” He asked her, taking a deep breath to inhale the spicy aroma of the stew she prepared. Hadiza blinked, slightly surprised at the question. When Cullen’s lips brushed her ear, she let out an involuntary laugh, shrugging her shoulders and biting her lip.

            “I’d heard of it during my time in the Order, but I’d never seen it done.” He clarified. Hadiza turned her head slightly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before returning her attention to the cooking pot.

            “Yes,” She answered, laughter lingering in her voice, “Some can. But it is not an art one learns in the Circle…well, not officially. Some of the senior enchanters have access to…better reading material.”

            Cullen frowned, but before he could query further his stomach growled, giving them both pause. In the quiet of the glade, sounds like that seemed to be magnified; Cullen’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Hadiza merely smiled.

            “Right on time. I think…” She brought the spoon up to her lips for a test tasting, tongue tentatively seeking out any discrepancies in the flavor, “…it’s ready.” She finished, satisfied. Cullen laughed, leaning in to nuzzle her neck, his stubble scratching along the tender flesh. He only did it because he knew it made her laugh, a sound he never tired of hearing. Perhaps it was the joy in it that moved him; the unfettered freedom in the trill, the shape of her smile, or the way she shut her eyes when the source of her laughter was particularly sweet.

            It served to remind him that the nightmares that plagued his sleep were just that.

            Hadiza served first him then herself and they sat together, eating in silence, taking in the warm night air. The stew was a Ferelden recipe, he knew, from the ingredients, but the touches Hadiza added were definitely of the Orlesian variety, with a hint of…something else; a spice that provided just enough spice on the tongue to make each bite more savory. Seeing his puzzled expression, Hadiza smiled.

            “Rivaini teardrop peppers,” She told him, “Aja worked in the mess decks a while when she crewed for that pirate. She learned a few recipes, some new, others just a new approach on old classics.” Hadiza finished her bowl, licking her lips.

            “It’s very…different…” Cullen said, “I mean, not in a bad way. I’ve just never…it’s very good.” At his hesitance, Hadiza laughed.

            “Josie was right. You Fereldens have such simple tastes. I’m glad you liked it…it’s the only thing I can cook without burning down the entire forest.” Her expression was self-deprecating and Cullen echoed her smile.

            “Well, as you say, we Fereldens have simple tastes. You’re at no risk of losing me over beef stew.” He assured her as she collected their bowls to clean and stow them. She approached him slowly, smirking.

            “Good. I don’t want to let you go so easily, Commander.” She settled beside him as he brought out the Creation tome. He leaned against the large log they’d set up and she settled into the nook of his arm.

            “Earlier, you asked about shapeshifting,” Hadiza said softly, “I’m assuming you want to know if I have this ability.” For a while, there was only silence, but she could hear Cullen’s brain working, thinking, and likely trying to find a polite way to frame his next question or statement. Hadiza wondered if this plan of theirs was working. Was his better understanding of her magic and how she utilized it helping to diffuse his innate fear of it?

            “Yes,” He said at last, fingers brushing over the Creation tome’s cover, “I did wonder if you learned that.” It was Hadiza’s turn to thin; while she did, she flexed and relax her right hand in front of her. Little arcs of soft light danced between them.

            “Yes,” She answered softly, “I learned a little shapeshifting; nothing that would aid me in battle, though. At the time I wasn’t overly concerned with battle forms, just what gave me the most freedom.” She laughed then, mostly at her own childhood foolishness. Cullen smiled, dipping his head to nudge her own playfully.

            “Let me guess: a bird.” He teased then let out a sharp laugh as Hadiza elbowed his ribs.

            “Don’t tease me. Birds are very useful!” She protested only to make him laugh harder. Hadiza muttered under her breath. Cullen quelled his mirth long enough to see that she had pulled away to sit directly in front of him, legs crossed.

            “I’m sorry, love,” He said, and meant it, “I didn’t think I’d guess correctly. You never struck me as the bird type. I always assumed you’d learn to shift into a bear.” Hadiza’s nose wrinkled.

            “I wanted to, later,” She sniffed, “I just liked the bird because I liked to fly.” Her expression softened, then, reminiscing or feeling nostalgic. Cullen let her drift, content to watch her. There were so many expressions she made that showed him various sides of her beauty. He would always love the unfettered joy of her laughter foremost, but these moments when she was soft and hazy, her smile understated, and her eyes dream-like? He took them as they came.

            “Would you like a demonstration?” She asked tentatively. Cullen hesitated, and then decided he’d ask more questions, first.

            “In a moment,” He assured her, “But what’s it like? Do you…just change shape?”

            “That’s generally what happens when one shapeshifts, Cullen.” Hadiza remarked dryly, and then grinned as Cullen gave her an arch look.

            “Alright, but do you retain your…inner self?” He queried. Hadiza tapped her index finger to her lips in a mockery of deep thinking.

            “Yes and no. When you change shape, you are at once yourself and the beast you become. When I shift into a bird form, I exist both as Hadiza and the bird, if that makes sense.” She explained. Cullen stared at her blankly. She sighed.

            “Alright,” She said, “When I become the bird, yes, I change my shape. I retain the…mental and spiritual parts that comprise me: Hadiza. But beneath the surface is a bird. The instincts, the knowledge, everything a bird is required to know to survive in its role in nature. That’s there too.” Cullen continued to stare. He understood the concept, but he could not truly grasp it. Hadiza chuckled.

            “I become the bird, but in order to control myself, I have to…suppress the bird’s natural instincts. I can’t lose control or I’ll end up hunting rodents and vermin in the field for my meals.”

            And just like that, Cullen understood what she meant. She smiled as she watched it dawn on him and then adjusted to sit back on her heels, waiting expectantly. He adjusted as well, sitting up a little straighter. He watched her a moment, marveling that this was the same woman who saved Thedas. Here, inside their private sanctuary, she was different. The Inquisitor was a calculating and cunning individual, capable of quick and decisive action, blood-chilling ruthlessness, and surprisingly tender and empathetic mercy.

            Hadiza was laughter, sunlight, and everything joyful. She was _alive_ beneath the shell of the Inquisitor, thriving and free. Her happiness was infectious and he wondered how she managed it, despite all she’d been through, and found himself wondering if he would ever reach such heights of joy himself.

            “Love, you’re doing it again,” she teased in that singsong voice. Cullen smiled dreamily, making a noise of assent and Hadiza laughed again.

            “What am I doing?” He asked lazily. Hadiza crawled toward him, straddling his lap. Instead of answering, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. Cullen shut his eyes, relaxing completely, and simply let her kiss him, returning them with aching gentleness.

            “Nothing.” She whispered against his mouth, making him smile.

            “Oh.” Came his reply, and he continued with an open-mouthed kiss, slow and needful, letting himself indulge in the moment. His mind repeatedly raced back to the realization that this woman in his arms was real, and not some figment that would be torn from him by a demon or unspeakable evil.

            He froze.

            “Cullen?” Hadiza pulled away, concern creasing her brow. Cullen felt a memory bubble in his mind, visceral and ugly, and he couldn’t stop it. His breathing was short, eyes wide and unseeing, lips parted. Hadiza’s voice sounded far away, as if he were immersed underwater, and he was suddenly back _there_ again, the stench of death and old blood making his head ache.

 

            _The corpses were bloated and stiff, some consumed by the odd corruption that lined the walls, others left broken and rotting on the stone floors. It had been some time since Cullen saw another human being, and he was convinced that all in the tower were long since dead, save him. No one came or went from the Harrowing Chamber, and each time he glanced at the door, his mind shied away from what might be happening beyond it._

_There were screams, agonized and cut short in low gurgles, and his imagination raced to every possible outcome, horrified and shell-shocked. He had burned the lyrium from his blood in an attempt to fight Uldred, but his abilities were paltry theatrics compared to the horrors a blood mage could unleash._

_His armor creaked and rattled in response to the shiver of his bones, and his lips were dry, his tongue thick in his mouth, his teeth gritting. He focused on everything else in the room, everything but the demon behind him, holding him in a grasp beyond human strength. The forked tongue that flickered out of “Galatea’s” mouth slithered along his jaw, and the whisper that followed was obscene. Its arms held him, its lips moved against his ear, whispering dark promises. It drew desire from him like blood from a fresh wound._

_“Is this not what you want?” It asked, for perhaps the umpteenth time. It was wearing away at his will, and it knew it and so Cullen wept; not out of fear, but shame. The demon chuckled, a dark and husky sound, slithering along his skin like a cool serpent. He tried to recall the Chant, tried to summon it from the dregs of his exhausted mind and soul, but the sound died stillborn in his mouth, dry and parched, and he wept harder, silently begging for a death denied him by a power-mad abomination._

_In a moment of fleeting and perfect despair, Cullen believed the Maker had forsaken him._

“Cullen!” Hadiza’s voice was high and sharp, unstrung and discordant against the waking nightmare flashing through his mind. He blinked once, the clarity returning to his eyes, pupils dilating as the glade came rushing back into focus, the muffled sounds of his lover’s voice coming in clearer.

            “Cullen…Cullen, love, come back to me.” Hadiza’s voice was a heartfelt plea and he blinked, drawing a sharp inhale of breath, tasting the night air as he exhaled.

            “Diza?” His voice was quiet, and Hadiza nodded, her expression filled with more compassion than he felt worthy of. Maker! His nightmares had marched out of the night to plague him during his waking hours, and Hadiza bore it for his sake.

            For love’s sake.

            “You’re…we’re in the glade,” she explained gently, slowly, “It’s nightfall, and we’re in Ferelden. Are you alright?” Tentatively, her hands came up to brush along his chest, and when he did not flinch away, she pressed her palms against him to feel his hammering heart. Before he could speak, the aura rolled off of her, warm and soothing and Cullen heard himself let out a long sigh, followed by a groan of relief. His muscles had been tense during the flashback, and the soreness in his body melted away. Hadiza withdrew the spell, leaving him feeling languorous and rejuvenated.

            “Thank you,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t control it…did I…” He realized with growing dread that he might have hurt her and she may have hidden it from him. Hadiza shook her head.

            “No. No you didn’t. Maker, I was worried. You weren’t moving, and your breathing was so…” She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, fighting tears. Cullen’s went around her instinctively, pulling her close. Hadiza buried her face in his neck and shoulder, and he heard her fight back a small, choked sob.

            “Andraste preserve me, Hadiza, I didn’t…I’m sorry.” He hated to see her cry, truly. Beneath the Inquisitor, Hadiza was a woman who was as compassionate and empathetic as could be, and how she managed to don the mask of the Inquisitor and do her work without breaking, Cullen did not know. He imagined the toll it must have taken on her, and realized that he had been selfish. Not once had he asked if life in the Inquisition had left wounds on her soul that needed healing.

            But what could one broken man do?

            “I’m fine.” She said through her sniffles, “I just wish I could do more. I thought the magic would help.” Cullen smiled, kissing away her tears.

            “It _is_ helping, Hadiza. You and I both knew this would not be a short or easy undertaking,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with his thumb, “but we’ve been through worse. We can keep trying.”

            Hadiza nodded, and sniffled again. For some reason, he found it endearing, and leaned it, kissing the tip of her nose.

            “Now, where were we…?” He murmured, and Hadiza’s eyes went wide as Cullen’s mouth claimed hers and she made a muffled sound of surprise but then she relaxed, her eyes shutting in private bliss. He pulled away, watching as her lids flickered, revealing a pair of sterling eyes.

            “Better?” He asked her. Hadiza smiled, sliding away from him, back to her seat. For a moment, he simply watched her, searching for the right words; always searching for the right words.

            “Hadiza,” he began, and her expression changed to one of interest, “it has occurred to me that throughout all of this that I’ve hardly inquired after what you needed. You’ve done a lot of things since becoming the Inquisitor and I know it’s taken a toll on you.” He hoped he’d said it right, and Hadiza bit her lip to hide her smile.

            “It has, Cullen,” she answered, looking away, “but I’ll managed in time. Right now, I want to focus on you.” He wondered if helping him was helping her. She’d mentioned being apprenticed in the healing ward when she was in the Circle.

            “Alright,” he acceded, “now you said something about shapeshifting?”

            Hadiza grinned.

            “Ah yes, well,” her chuckle was dark and silky, “I was going to demonstrate but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to…”

            “Yes.” He said quickly. “It’s…I admit it’s something I’ve always been intrigued by.” Hadiza let out a puff of breath, drew it in, and when she exhaled, there was a light that followed. It consumed her body like a second skin until she was simply made of light, all of her. Cullen shielded his eyes against the brilliance as Hadiza raised her arms. To his shock, Hadiza then…exploded. He gasped, but the light had now become many, floating bulbs, swirling where Hadiza once sat, and they floated closer. Cullen laughed, pleasantly surprised and delighted when he saw that they were not lights at all, but dozens of little white butterflies.

            “Hadiza, you…” The butterflies swarmed him, and he laughed, mostly because the beating of their wings tickled him. He was careful not to swat at them, and they maintained a pattern of flight that clearly said that Hadiza was still in control. She swarmed around his head, then up, up, up, spiraling toward the sky. Cullen found himself deeply amused. Where was she going? Did she expect him to chase her?

The butterflies floated, maintaining their pattern high above his head, giving off a soft, faint glow. Without warning, they shifted sharply, and then dove toward the ground. As they landed, they blended together, growing brighter, taking on the shape of the woman. When the light faded, Hadiza sat in the place where the swarm had been. She brushed her hair out of her face, made a gagging noise, and a butterfly floated from her mouth, glowing, before she caught it in her hand and it became apart of her.

            “How did you…?” Cullen asked and Hadiza waved her hand.

            “Become multiple like that?” She finished, “Ah, well. That’s a lot more complicated than become a bird, a bear, or a spider. With swarms, you have to split your consciousness over each part. Each butterfly was me, but only a facet of me.” Cullen found himself unable to follow. Hadiza laughed.

            “Alright,” she decided, “imagine that you are the head of an army.”

            “I am.” Cullen said wryly, “Unless you’re having me replaced.” Hadiza put her face in her hand, stifling her laughter.

            “Wait,” Cullen said, “ _are_ you having me replaced?”

            She burst into laughter.

            “Maker! No!” She cried, doubling over. Why she found it funny, he’d never know. He didn’t care. Hadiza’s laughter was…it was a supreme source of joy for him. He smiled. When her laughter subsided she was lying on her side, amidst the soft grass and looking every bit as alluring as before. Cullen came to her, unbidden.

            “I was the head of an army of butterflies, and each one carries orders from me,” she was saying as he pinned her on her back, “all of them were… _oh_ …” Cullen’s hands ghosted up her shirt.

            “I’m sure.” He said gently, lowering his head to kiss her.

            “No more talking?” She asked him when he pulled away for air. Cullen smirked, kissed her again, and then began drumming his fingertips up and down her ribs. Her laughter shivered out of her, then burst.

            “Cullen!” She shrieked, but he didn’t stop, determined to exhaust her laughter into the night air. Of course, the best-laid plans always went astray. Hadiza wriggled beneath him, and he continued to tickle her, delighting in the joy she brought with her. Cullen thought to himself, as he stripped away her clothing and his, that these memories could serve to replace the old ones. He could rewrite the story of his life with this woman. This woman with her infectious laugh and the deep, abiding passion they kindled in one another. He gave her a slight reprieve, and she caught her breath, grinning at him.

            “You are such an ass. You’re not even ticklish.” She retorted. Cullen shrugged.

            “Call it a Templar perk.” He said, and reached for her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter leads into [Virtuoso](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3669405) which is highly NSFW. Go read that.


End file.
